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ON  SUNSET 
HIGHWAYS 


'*SEE  AMERICA   FIRST"  SERIES 

Each  in  one  volume,  decorative  cover,  profusely  illustrated 


CALIFORNIA,  ROMANTIC  AND  BEAUTIFUL 

By  George  Wharton  James  $6.00 

NEW  MEXICO:   The  Land  of  the  Delight  Makers 

By  George  Wharton  James  $6.00 

SEVEN  WONDERLANDS  OF  THE  AMERICAN 
WEST 

By  Thomas  D.  Murphy  $6.00 

A  WONDERLAND  OF  THE  EAST:    The  Moun- 
tain    and     Lake     Region    of    New     England     and 
Eastern    New    York 
By  William  Copeman  Kitchin,  Ph.  D.  $6.00 

ON    SUNSET    HIGHWAYS  (California) 

By  Thomas  D.  Murphy  $6.00 

TEXAS,    THE   MARVELLOUS 

By  Nevin  O.  Winter  $6.00 

ARIZONA,  THE  WONDERLAND 

By  George  Wharton  James  $6.00 

COLORADO:  THE  QUEEN  JEWEL  OF  THE 
ROCKIES 

By  Mae  Lacy  Baggs  $6.00 

OREGON,   THE   PICTURESQUE 

By  Thomas  D.  Murphy  $6.00 

FLORIDA,   THE    LAND    OF    ENCHANTMENT 

By  Nevin  O.  Winter  $6.00 

SUNSET  CANADA  (British  Columbia  and  Beyond) 
By  Archie  Bell  $6.00 

ALASKA,  OUR  BEAUTIFUL  NORTHLAND 
OF    OPPORTUNITY 

By  Agnes  Rush  Burr  $6.00 

UTAH:  THE  LAND  OF  BLOSSOMING  VAL- 
LEYS 

By  George  Wharton  James  $6.00 

NEW  ENGLAND  HIGHWAYS  AND  BYWAYS 
FROM  A  MOTOR  CAR 

By  Thomas   D.   Murphy  $6.00 

VIRGINIA:  THE  OLD  DOMINION.  As  seen 
from  its  Colonial  waterway,  the  Historic  River 
James 

By  F"rank  and  Cortelle  Hutchins  $5.00 


L.  C.  PAGE   &   COMPANY 
53  Beacon  Street  Boston,  Mass. 


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THE   GATE    OF   VAL    TxYISO   CANYON,    MONTEREY 
From  Original    Paintinf?  by  M.   De  Neale  Morg-an 


On  Sunset 
Highways 

A  Book  of  Motor  Rambles 
m  California 

New  and  Revised  Edition 
BY  THOS.  D.  MURPHY 

AUTHOR  OF 

"in  unfamiliar  ENGLAND  WITH  A  MOTOR  CAR," 

"seven  WONDERLANDS  OF  THE  AMERICAN   WEST," 

"new  ENGLAND  HIGHWAYS  AND  BYWAYS,"    ETC. 


WITH  SIXTEEN  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR  FROM  ORIGINAL  PAINTINGS, 

MAINLY    BY  CALIFORNIA    ARTISTS,    AND  THIRTY-TWO 

DUOGRAVURES  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS. 

ALSO  ROAD  MAP  COVERING  ENTIRE  STATE. 


BOSTON 

L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1915,  by 

L.  C.  PAGE  &1,  COMPANY 

Copyright,  1921,  by 

L.  C.  PAGE  &.  COMPANY 

All  Rights  Reserved 
Made  in  U.  S.  A. 


Preface 

The  publishers  tell  me  that  the  first  large  edi- 
tion of  "On  Sunset  Highways"  has  been  exhausted 
and  that  the  steady  demand  for  the  book  warrants 
a  reprint.  1  have,  therefore,  improved  the  occasion 
to  revise  the  text  in  many  places  and  to  add  descrip- 
tive sketches  of  several  worth-while  tours  we  subse- 
quently made.  As  it  stands  now  I  think  the  book 
covers  most  of  the  ground  of  especial  interest  to  the 
average  motorist  in  California. 

One  can  not  get  the  best  idea  of  this  wonderful 
country  from  the  railway  train  or  even  from  the 
splendid  electric  system  that  covers  most  of  the 
country  surrounding  Los  Angeles.  The  motor  that 
takes  one  into  the  deep  recesses  of  hill  and  valley  to 
infrequented  nooks  along  the  seashore  and,  above 
all,  to  the  slopes  and  summits  of  the  mountains,  is 
surely  the  nearest  approach  to  the  ideal. 

The  California  of  to-day  is  even  more  of  a  mo- 
tor paradise  than  when  we  made  our  first  ventures 
on  her  highroads.  There  has  been  a  substantial  in- 
crease in  her  improved  highways  and  every  subse- 
quent year  will  no  doubt  see  still  further  extensions. 
The  beauty  and  variety  of  her  scenery  will  always 
remain  and  good  roads  will  give  easy  access  to 
many  hereto  almost  inaccessible  sections.  And  the 
charm  of  her  romantic  history  will  not  decrease  as 
the  years  go  by.    There  is  a  growing  interest  in  the 


ig20 


still  existing  relics  of  the  mission  days  and  the 
Spanish  occupation  which  we  may  hope  will  lead  to 
their  restoration  and  preservation.  All  of  which 
will  make  motoring  in  California  more  delightful 
than  ever. 

I  do  not  pretend  in  this  modest  volume  to  have 
covered  everything  worth  while  in  this  vast  state; 
neither  have  I  chosen  routes  so  difficult  as  to  be  in- 
accessible to  the  ordinary  motor  tourist.  I  have  not 
attempted  a  guide-book  in  the  usual  sense ;  my  first 
aim  has  been  to  reflect  by  description  and  picture 
something  of  the  charm  of  this  favored  country; 
but  I  hope  that  the  book  may  not  be  unacceptable 
as  a  traveling  companion  to  the  motor  tourist  who 
follows  us.  Conditions  of  roads  and  tow^ns  change 
so  rapidly  in  California  that  due  allowance  must  be 
made  by  anyone  who  uses  the  book  in  this  capacity. 
Up-to-the-minute  information  as  to  road  conditions 
and  touring  conveniences  may  be  had  at  the  Auto- 
mobile Club  in  Los  Angeles  or  at  any  of  its  dozen 
branches  in  other  towns  in  Southern  California. 

In  choosing  the  paintings  to  be  reproduced  as 
color  illustrations,  I  was  impressed  with  the  wealth 
of  material  I  discovered;  in  fact,  California  artists 
have  developed  a  distinctive  school  of  American 
landscape  art.  With  the  wealth  and  variety  of  sub- 
ject matter  at  the  command  of  these  enthusiastic 
western  painters,  it  is  safe  to  predict  that  their  work 
is  destined  to  rank  with  the  best  produced  in  Ameri- 
ca— and  1  believe  that  the  examples  which  I  show 
will  amply  warrant  this  prediction. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS 


I  A    MOTOR    PARADISE 1 

II  ROUND    ABOUT    LOS    ANGELES 19 

III  ROUND    ABOUT    LOS    ANGELES 43 

rV  ROUND    ABOUT    LOS    ANGELES 62 

V  THE    INLAND    ROUTE    TO    SAN    DIEGO 82 

VI  ROUND  ABOUT  SAN  DIEGO 110 

VII  THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY  AND  THE  SAN  DIEGO 

BACK   COUNTRY 126 

VIII  THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 150 

rX  SANTA    BARBARA     178 

X  SANTA    BARBARA    TO    MONTEREY 198 

XI  THE    CHARM    OF    OLD    MONTEREY 225 

XII  MEANDERINGS    FROM    MONTEREY 

TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 252 

XIII  TO  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  LAKE  VALLEY 277 

XrV  THE   NETHERLANDS   OF    CALIFORNIA 296 

XV  A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 311 

XVI  OUR    RUN    TO    YOSEMITE 343 

XVII  LAKE   TAHOE    358 


^[N  making  acknowledgment  to  the  photographers 
/-vJ  through  whose  courtesy  I  am  able  to  present  the 
beautihil  monotones  of  California's  scenery  and 
historic  missions,  I  can  only  say  that  I  think  that  the 
artistic  beauty  and  sentiment  evinced  in  every  one  of 
these  pictures  entitles  its  author  to  be  styled  artist  as 
well  as  photographer.  These  enthusiastic  Californians 
— Dassonville,  Pillsbury,  Putnam,  and  Taylor — are 
thoroughly  in  love  with  their  work  and  every  photo- 
graph they  take  has  the  merits  of  an  original  composition. 
I  had  the  privilege  of  selecting,  from  many  thousands, 
the  examples  shown  in  this  book  and  while  I  doubt  if 
thirty-two  pictures  of  higher  average  could  be  found,  it 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  these  artists  have  hundreds  of 
other  delightful  views  that  would  grace  any  collection. 
I  heartily  recommend  any  reader  of  the  book  to  visit 
these  studios  if  he  desires  appropriate  and  enduring 
mementos  of  California's  scenic  beauty. 

Detailed  maps  covering  any  proposed  tour  can  be 
had  by  application  to  the  Automobile  Club  of  Southern 
California.  THE  AUTHOR. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


COLOR  PLATES 


PAGE 
THE   GATE  OF    VAL  PAISO  CANYON,   MONTEREY.  . Frontispiece 

HILLSIDE   NEAR  MONTEREY    1 

CLOISTERS,    SAN  JUAN  CAFISTRANO 72 

PALM  CANYON    132 

WILD   MUSTARD,   MIRAMAR    194 

POPPIES   AND    LUPINES    198 

OAKS   NEAR    PASO    ROBLES    214 

CYPRESS    POINT,    MONTEREY    225 

ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON    HOUSE 234 

EVENING   NEAR   MONTEREY    242 

A  FOREST   GLADE    246 

THE    PACIFIC   NEAR   GOLDEN    GATE 277 

A  DISTANT  VIEW  OP  MT.   TAMALPAIS 311 

VERNAL    FALLS,    YOSEMITE     35U 

NEVADA   FALL,    YOSEMITE    352 

ON    THE    SHORE    OF    LAKE    TAHOE    372 

DUOGRAVURES 

SAN  GABRIEL  MISSION    64 

CORRIDOR,    SAN    FERNANDO    MISSION    74 

CAMPANILE,    PALA    MISSION    106 

SAN    DIEGO    MISSION    llu 

A  BACK  COUNTRY   OAK    1S4 

ROAD  TO  WARNER'S  HOT  SPRINGS 146 

A  BACK  COUNTRY  VALLEY    148 

TORREY    PINES,    NEAR    LA    JOLLA 158 

RUINS  OF  CHAPEL,  SAN  LUIS  REY 164 

ENTRANCE    TO    SAN    LUIS    REY    CEMETERY 166 

FATHER   O'KEEFE   AT   SAN   LUIS   REY 16S 

A    CORNER    OF    CAPISTRANO 170 

ARCHES,    CAPISTRANO     172 

RUINED    CLOISTERS,    CAPISTRANO     174 

RUINS  OF  CAPISTRANO  CHURCH  BY  MOONLIGHT 176 

GIANT  GRAPEVINE  NEAR  CARPINTERIA 1S4 

ARCADE,    SANTA    BARBARA    186 

THE  OLD  CEMETERY,  SANTA  BARBARA 188 

THE   FORBIDDEN  GARDEN,   SANTA  BARBARA 19(i 


BELL  TOWER,  SANTA  YNEZ    204 

INTERIOR  CHURCH,   SAN  MIGUEL 216 

ARCADE,    SAN    MIGUEL    218 

DRIVE    THROUGH    GROUNDS,    DEL    MONTE    HOTEL 228 

CARMEL  MISSION    236 

CYPRESSES,    POINT    LOBOS    240 

OLD  CYPRESSES  ON  THE  SEVENTEEN-MILE  DRIVE, 

MONTEREY 244 

CHURCH  AND  CEMETERY,   SAN  JUAN   BAUTIS-TA 252 

A    LAKE    COUNTY    BYWAY 284 

ON   THE   SLOPES   OF  MT.    ST.    HELENA 290 

SAN   ANTONIO    DE    PADUA 328 

RUINS    OF    LA    PURISIMA 332 

A  ROAD  THROUGH  THE  REDWOODS 338 

MAPS 

ROAD    MAP    OF    CALIFORNIA 374 


On  Sunset  Highways 
I 

A  MOTOR  PARADISE 

California!  The  very  name  had  a  strange 
fascination  for  me  ere  I  set  foot  on  the  soil  of  the 
Golden  State.  Its  romantic  story  and  the  enthu- 
siasm of  those  who  had  made  the  (to  me)  wonder- 
ful journey  to  the  favored  country  by  the  great 
ocean  of  the  West  had  interested  and  delighted  me 
as  a  child,  though  1  thought  of  it  then  as  some  dim, 
far-away  El  Dorado  that  lay  on  the  borders  of  fairy- 
land. My  first  visit  was  not  under  circumstances 
tending  to  dissolve  the  spell,  for  it  was  on  my  wed- 
ding trip  that  I  first  saw  the  land  of  palms  and  flow- 
ers, orange  groves,  snowy  mountains,  sunny 
beaches,  and  blue  seas,  and  I  found  little  to  dispel 
the  rosy  dreams  I  had  preconceived.  This  was  long 
enough  ago  to  bring  a  great  proportion  of  the 
grow^th  and  progress  of  the  state  within  the  scope 
of  my  own  experience.  We  saw^  Los  Angeles,  then 
an  aspiring  town  of  forty  thousand,  giving  promise 
of  the  truly  metropolitan  city  it  has  since  become; 
Pasadena  was  a  straggling  village ;  and  around  the 
two  towns  were  wide  areas  of  open  country  now 
teeming  with  ambitious  suburbs.  We  visited  never- 
to-be-forgotten  Del  Monte  and  saw  the  old  San 
Francisco  ere  fire  and  quake  had  swept  away  its 
most  distinctive  and  romantic  features — the  Nob 
Hill  palaces  and  old-time  Chinatown. 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

Some  years  intervened  between  this  and  our 
second  visit,  v^hen  we  found  the  City  of  the  Angels 
a  thriving  metropoHs  with  hundreds  of  palatial 
structures  and  the  most  perfect  system  of  inter- 
urban  transportation  to  be  found  anywhere,  while 
its  northern  rival  had  risen  from  debris  and  ashes  in 
serried  ranks  of  concrete  and  steel.  A  tour  of  the 
Yosemite  gave  us  new  ideas  of  California's  scenic 
grandeur;  there  began  to  dawn  on  us  vistas  of  the 
endless  possibilities  that  the  Golden  State  offers  to 
the  tourist  and  w^e  resolved  on  a  longer  sojourn  at 
the  first  favorable  opportunity. 

A  week's  stay  in  Los  Angeles  and  a  free  use  of 
the  Pacific  Electric  gave  us  a  fair  idea  of  the  city 
and  its  lesser  neighbors,  but  we  found  ourselves 
longing  for  the  country  roads  and  retired  nooks  of 
mountain  and  beach  inaccessible  by  railway  train 
and  tram  car.  We  felt  we  should  never  be  satisfied 
until  we  had  explored  this  wonderland  by  motor — 
which  the  experience  of  three  long  tours  in  Europe 
had  proved  to  us  the  only  way  to  really  see  much  of 
a  country  in  the  limits  of  a  summer  vacation. 

And  so  it  chanced  that  a  year  or  two  later  we 
found  ourselves  on  the  streets  of  Los  Angeles  with 
our  trusty  friend  of  the  winged  wheels,  intent  on 
exploring  the  nooks  and  corners  of  Sunset  Land. 
We  wondered  why  we  had  been  so  long  in  coming 
— why  we  had  taken  our  car  three  times  to  Europe 
before  we  brought  it  to  California;  and  the  marvel 
grew  on  us  as  we  passed  out  of  the  streets  of  the 
city  on  to  the  perfect  boulevard  that  led  through 
green  fields  to  the  western  Venice  by  the  sea.  It  is 
of  the  experience  of  the  several  succeeding  weeks 


A  MOTOR  PARADISE 

and  of  a  like  tour  during  the  two  following  years 
that  this  unpretentious  chronicle  has  to  deal.  And 
my  excuse  for  inditing  it  must  be  that  it  is  first  of 
all  a  chronicle  of  a  motor  car;  for  while  books 
galore  have  been  written  on  California  by  railroad 
and  horseback  travelers  as  well  as  by  those  who 
pursued  the  leisurely  and  good  old  method  of  the 
Franciscan  fathers,  no  one,  so  far  as  I  know^,  has 
written  of  an  extended  experience  at  the  steering 
wheel  of  our  modern  annihilator  of  distance. 

It  seems  a  little  strange,  too,  for  Southern  Cali- 
fornia is  easily  the  motorist's  paradise  over  all  other 
places  on  this  mundane  sphere.  It  has  more  cars  to 
the  population — twice  over — and  they  are  in  use  a 
greater  portion  of  the  year  than  in  any  other  section 
of  similar  size  in  the  world  and  probably  more  out- 
side cars  are  to  be  seen  on  its  streets  and  highways 
than  in  any  other  locality  in  the  United  States.  The 
matchless  climate  and  the  ever-increasing  mileage 
of  fine  roads,  with  the  endless  array  of  places  worth 
visiting,  insure  the  maximum  of  service  and  pleas- 
ure to  the  fortunate  owner  of  a  car,  regardless  of  its 
name-plate  or  pedigree.  The  climate  needs  no 
encomiums  from  me,  for  is  it  not  heralded  and  des- 
canted upon  by  all  true  Californians  and  by  every 
wayfarer,  be  his  sojourn  ever  so  brief? — but  a  few 
words  on  the  wonders  already  achieved  in  road- 
building  and  the  vast  plans  for  the  immediate  future 
will  surely  be  of  interest.  I  am  conscious  that  any 
data  concerning  the  progress  of  California  are  liable 
to  become  obsolete  overnight,  as  it  were,  but  if  I 
were  to  confine  myself  to  the  unchanging  in  this 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

vast  commonwealth,  there  would  be  little  but  the 
sea  and  the  mountains  to  write  about. 

Los  Angeles  County  was  the  leader  in  good 
roads  construction  and  at  the  time  of  which  I  write 
had  completed  about  three  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
of  modern  highway  at  a  cost  of  nearly  five  million 
dollars.  I  know^  of  nothing  in  Europe  superior — 
and  very  little  equal — to  the  splendid  system  of 
macadam  boulevards  that  radiate  from  the  Queen 
City  of  the  Southwest.  The  asphalted  surface  is 
smooth  and  dustless  and  the  skill  of  the  engineer  is 
everywhere  evident.  There  are  no  heavy  grades; 
straight  lines  or  long  sweeping  curves  prevail 
throughout.  Added  to  this  is  a  considerable  mile- 
age of  privately  constructed  road  built  by  land  im- 
provement companies  to  promote  various  tracts 
about  the  city,  one  concern  alone  having  spent  more 
than  half  a  million  dollars  in  this  work.  Further  ad- 
ditions are  projected  by  the  county  and  an  excel- 
lent maintenance  plan  has  been  devised,  for  the 
authorities  have  wisely  recognized  that  the  upkeep 
of  these  splendid  roads  is  a  problem  equal  in  impor- 
tance with  building  them.  This,  however,  is  not  so 
serious  a  matter  as  in  the  East,  owing  to  the  absence 
of  frost,  the  great  enemy  of  roads  of  this  type. 

Since  the  foregoing  paragraph  was  first  pub- 
lished (1915)  the  good  work  has  gone  steadily  on 
and  despite  the  sharp  check  that  the  World  War 
administered  to  public  enterprises,  Los  Angeles 
County  has  materially  added  to  and  improved  her 
already  extensive  mileage  of  modern  roads.  A  new 
boulevard    connects    the    beach    towns    between 

Redondo  and  Venice;  a  marvelous  scenic  road  re- 

4 


A  MOTOR  PARADISE 

places  the  old-time  trail  in  Topango  Canyon  and  the 
new  Hollywood  Mountain  Road  is  one  of  the  most 
notable  achievements  of  highway  engineering  in  all 
California.  Many  new  laterals  have  been  completed 
in  the  level  section  about  Downey  and  Artesia  and 
numerous  boulevards  opened  in  the  foothill  region. 
Besides  all  this  the  main  highways  have  been  im- 
proved and  in  some  cases — as  of  Long  Beach 
Boulevard — entirely  rebuilt.  In  the  city  itself  there 
has  been  vast  improvement  and  extension  of  the 
streets  and  boulevards  so  that  more  than  ever  this 
favored  section  deserves  to  be  termed  the  paradise 
of  the  motorist. 

San  Diego  County  has  set  a  like  example  in 
this  good  work,  having  expended  a  million  and  a 
half  on  her  highways  and  authorized  a  bond  issue 
of  two  and  one-half  millions  more,  none  of  which 
has  been  as  yet  expended.  While  the  highways  of 
this  county  do  not  equal  the  model  excellence  of 
those  of  Los  Angeles  County,  the  foundation  of  a 
splendid  system  has  been  laid.  Here  the  engineer- 
ing problem  was  a  more  serious  one,  for  there  is 
little  but  rugged  hills  within  the  boundaries  of  the 
county.  Other  counties  are  in  various  stages  of 
highw^ay  building;  still  others  have  bond  issues 
under  consideration — and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  when 
this  book  comes  from  the  press  there  will  not  be  a 
county  in  Southern  California  that  has  not  begun 
permanent  road  improvement  on  its  own  account. 

I  say  "on  its  own  account"  because  whatever  it 
may  do  of  its  own  motion,  nearly  every  county  in 
the  state  is  assured  of  considerable  mileage  of  the 
new  state  highway  system,  now  partially  completed, 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

while  the  remainder  is  under  construction  or  located 
and  surveyed.  The  first  bond  issue  of  eighteen 
million  dollars  was  authorized  by  the  state  several 
years  ago,  a  second  issue  of  fifteen  millions  was 
voted  in  1916,  and  another  of  forty  millions  a  year 
later,  making  in  all  seventy-three  millions,  of  which, 
at  this  w^riting,  thirty-nine  millions  is  unexpended. 
Counties  have  issued  about  forty-two  millions 
more.  It  is  estimated  that  to  complete  the  full 
highway  program  the  state  must  raise  one  hundred 
millions  additional  by  bond  issues. 

The  completed  system  contemplates  two  great 
trunk  lines  from  San  Diego  to  the  Oregon  border, 
one  route  roughly  following  the  coast  and  the  other 
well  inland,  while  lateral  branches  are  to  connect  all 
county  seats  not  directly  reached.  Branches  will 
also  extend  to  the  Imperial  Valley  and  along  the 
Eastern  Sierras  as  far  as  Independence  and  in  time 
across  the  Cajon  Pass  through  the  Mohave  Desert 
to  Needles  on  the  Colorado  River.  California's 
wealth  of  materials  (granite,  sand,  limestone,  and 
asphaltum)  and  their  accessibility  should  give  the 
maximum  mileage  for  money  expended.  This  w^as 
estimated  by  a  veteran  Pittsburgh  highway  con- 
tractor whom  I  chanced  to  meet  in  the  Yosemite,  at 
fully  twice  as  great  as  could  be  built  in  his  locality 
for  the  same  expenditure. 

California  w^as  a  pioneer  in  improved  roads 
and  it  is  not  strange  that  mistakes  were  made  in 
some  of  the  earlier  work,  chiefly  in  building  road- 
ways too  narrow  and  too  light  to  stand  the  con- 
stantly increasing  heavy  traffic.     The  Automobile 

Club  of  Southern  California,  in  conjunction  with 

6 


A  MOTOR  PARADISE 

the  State  Automobile  Association,  recently  made 
an  exhaustive  investigation  and  report  of  existing 
highway  conditions  which  should  do  much  to  pre- 
vent repetition  of  mistakes  in  roads  still  to  be  built. 
The  State  Highway  Commission,  while  admitting 
that  some  of  the  earlier  highways  might  better  have 
been  built  heavier  and  wider,  points  out  that  this 
would  have  cut  the  mileage  at  least  half;  and  also 
that  at  the  time  these  roads  were  contracted  for,  the 
extent  that  heavy  trucking  would  assume  was  not 
fully  realized.  Work  on  new  roads  was  generally 
suspended  during  the  war  and  is  still  delayed  by 
high  costs  and  the  difficulty  of  selling  bonds. 

At  this  writing  ( 1  92 1  )  the  two  trunk  lines 
from  San  Diego  to  San  Francisco  are  practically 
completed  and  the  motorist  between  these  points, 
whether  on  coast  or  inland  route,  may  pursue  the 
even  tenor  of  his  way  over  the  smooth,  dustless, 
asphalted  surface  at  whatever  speed  he  may  con- 
sider prudent,  though  the  limit  of  thirty-five  miles 
now  allowed  in  the  open  country  under  certain  re- 
strictions leaves  little  excuse  for  excessive  speeding. 
It  is  not  uncommon  to  make  the  trip  over  the  inland 
route,  about  six  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  in  three 
days,  while  a  day  longer  should  be  allowed  for  the 
coast  run. 

In  parts  where  the  following  narrative  covers 

our  tours  made  before  much  of  the  new^  road  was 

finished,  I  shall  not  alter  my  descriptions  and  they 

will  afford  the  reader  an  opportunity  of  comparing 

the  present  improved  highways  with  conditions  that 

existed  only  yesterday,  as  it  were. 

Road  improvement  has    been    active    in    the 
7 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

northern  counties  for  several  years,  especially 
around  San  Francisco.  I  have  gone  into  the  details 
concerning  this  section  in  my  book  on  Oregon  and 
Northern  California,  and  will  not  repeat  the  matter 
here,  since  the  scope  of  this  work  must  be  largely 
confined  to  the  south.  It  is  no  exaggeration,  how- 
ever, to  say  that  to-day  California  is  unsurpassed  by 
any  other  state  in  mileage  and  excellence  of  im- 
proved roads  and  when  the  projects  under  way  are 
carried  out  she  will  easily  take  first  rank  in  these 
important  particulars  unless  more  competition  de- 
velops than  is  now  apparent.  Thus  she  supplies 
the  first  requisite  for  the  motor  enthusiast,  though 
some  may  declare  her  matchless  climate  of  equal 
advantage  to  the  tourist. 

If  the  motor  enthusiast  of  the  Golden  State  can 
take  no  credit  to  himself  for  the  climate,  he  is  sure- 
ly entitled  to  no  end  of  credit  for  the  advanced  state 
of  affairs  in  public  highway  improvement.  In  pro- 
portion to  the  population  he  is  more  numerous  in 
Southern  California  than  anywhere  else  in  the 
world,  and  we  might  therefore  expect  to  find  a 
strong  and  effective  organization  of  motorists  in 
Los  Angeles.  In  this  we  are  not  disappointed,  for 
the  Automobile  Club  of  Southern  California  has  a 
membership  of  more  than  fifty  thousand ;  it  was  but 
seven  thousand  when  the  first  edition  of  this  book 
was  printed  in  191 5 — a  growth  which  speaks 
volumes  for  its  strides  in  public  appreciation.  Its 
territory  comprises  only  half  a  single  state,  yet  its 
membership  surpasses  that  of  its  nearest  rival  by 
more  than  two  to  one.     It  makes  no  pretense  at 

being  a  "social"  club,  all  its  energies  being  devoted 

8 


A  MOTOR  PARADISE 

to  promoting  the  welfare  and  interests  of  the  motor- 
ist in  its  field  of  action,  and  so  important  and  far- 
reaching  are  its  activities  that  the  benefits  it  confers 
on  the  car  owners  of  Southern  California  are  by  no 
means  limited  to  the  membership.  Practically  every 
owner  and  driver  of  a  car  is  indebted  to  the  club  in 
more  ways  than  I  can  enumerate  and  as  this  fact 
has  gained  recognition  the  membership  has 
increased  by  leaps  and  bounds.  I  remember 
when  the  sense  of  obligation  to  become  a  member 
was  forced  upon  me  by  the  road  signs  which  served 
me  almost  hourly  when  touring  and  this  is  perhaps 
the  feature  of  the  club's  work  which  first  impresses 
the  newcomer.  Everywhere  in  the  southern  half 
of  California  and  even  on  a  transcontinental  high- 
way the  familiar  white  diamond-shaped  signboard 
greets  one's  sight — often  a  friend  in  need,  saving 
time  and  annoyance.  The  maps  prepared  and  sup- 
plied by  the  club  were  even  a  greater  necessity  and 
this  service  has  been  amplified  and  extended  until 
it  not  only  covers  every  detail  of  the  highways  and 
byways  of  California,  but  also  includes  the  main 
roads  of  adjacent  states  and  one  transcontinental 
route  as  well.  These  maps  are  frequently  revised 
and  up-to-the-minute  road  information  may  always 
be  had  by  application  to  the  Touring  Department 
of  the  club. 

When  we  planned  our  first  tour,  at  a  time 
when  road  conditions  were  vastly  different  from 
what  they  are  now,  our  first  move  was  to  seek  the 
assistance  of  this  club,  which  was  readily  given  as 
a  courtesy  to  a  visiting  motorist.  The  desired  infor- 
mation was  freely  and  cheerfully  supplied,  but  I 


ON  SIJNSET  HIGHWAYS 

could  not  help  feeling,  after  experiencing  so  many 
benefits  from  the  work  of  the  club,  that  I  was  under 
obligations  to  become  a  member.  And  I  am  sure 
that  even  the  transient  motorist,  though  he  plans  a 
tour  of  but  a  few  weeks,  will  be  well  repaid — and 
have  a  clearer  conscience — should  his  first  move  be 
to  take  membership  in  this  live  organization. 

We  found  the  club  an  unerring  source  of  infor- 
mation as  to  the  most  practicable  route  to  take  on  a 
proposed  tour,  the  best  way  out  of  the  city,  and  the 
general  condition  of  the  roads. to  be  covered.  The 
club  is  also  an  authority  on  hotels,  garages  and 
"objects  of  interest"  generally  in  the  territory  cov- 
ered by  its  activities.  Besides  the  main  organ- 
ization, which  occupies  its  own  building  at  Adams 
and  Figueroa  Streets,  Los  Angeles,  there  are  numer- 
ous branch  offices  in  the  principal  towns  of  the 
counties  of  Southern  California,  which  in  their  lo- 
calities can  fulfill  most  of  the  functions  of  the  club. 

The  club  maintains  a  department  of  free  legal 
advice  and  its  membership  card  is  generally  suf- 
ficient bail  for  members  charged  with  violating  the 
speed  or  traffic  regulations.  It  is  always  willing  to 
back  its  members  to  the  limit  when  the  presump- 
tion of  being  right  is  in  their  favor,  but  it  has  no 
sympathy  with  the  reckless  joy  rider  and  lawbreak- 
er and  does  all  it  can  to  discourage  such  practices. 
It  has  been  a  powerful  influence  in  obtaining  sane 
and  practical  motor  car  legislation,  such  as  raising 
the  speed  limit  in  the  open  country  to  thirty-five 
miles  per  hour,  and  providing  severer  penalties 
against  theft  of  motor  cars.  One  of  the  most  valu- 
able services  of  the  club  has  been  its  relentless  pur- 

10 


A  MOTOR  PARADISE 

suit  and  prosecution  of  motor  car  thieves  and  the 
recovery  of  a  large  percentage  of  stolen  cars.  In 
fact,  Los  Angeles  stands  at  the  head  of  the  large 
cities  of  the  country  in  a  minimum  of  net  losses  of 
cars  by  theft  and  the  club  can  justly  claim  credit  for 
this.  The  club  has  also  done  much  to  abate  the  for- 
mer scandalous  practices  of  many  towns  in  fixing 
a  very  low  speed  limit  w^ith  a  view  of  helping  out 
local  finances  by  collecting  heavy  fines.  This  is  now 
regulated  by  state  law^s  and  the  motorist  who  is 
willing  to  play  fair  with  the  public  will  not  suffer 
much  annoyance.  The  efforts  of  the  club  to  elim- 
inate what  it  considers  double  taxation  of  its  mem- 
bers who  must  pay  both  a  horse  power  fee  and  a 
heavy  property  tax  were  not  successful,  but  the 
California  motorist  has  the  consolation  of  knowing 
that  all  taxes,  fines  and  fees  affecting  the  motor  car 
go  to  the  good  cause  of  road  maintenance. 

Another  important  service  rendered  by  the 
club  is  the  insurance  of  its  members  against  all  the 
hazards  connected  with  operation  of  an  automobile. 
Fire,  theft,  liability,  collision,  etc.,  are  written  prac- 
tically at  cost.  The  club  also  maintains  patrol  and 
trouble  cars  which  respond  free  of  cost  to  members 
in  difficulty. 

Besides  all  this,  the  club  deserves  much  credit 
for  the  advanced  position  of  California  in  highway 
improvement.  It  has  done  much  to  create  the  pub- 
lic sentiment  which  made  the  bond  issues  possible 
and  it  has  rendered  valuable  assistance  in  surveying 
and  building  the  new  roads.  It  has  kept  in  constant 
touch  with  the  State  Highway  Commission  and  its 

superior  knowledge  of  the  best  and  shortest  routes 

11 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

has  been  of  great  service  in  locating  the  new  state 
roads. 

My  story  is  to  deal  with  several  sojourns  in  the 
Sunset  State  during  the  months  of  April  and  May 
of  consecutive  years.  We  shipped  our  car  by  rail 
in  care  of  a  Los  Angeles  garage  and  so  many  follow 
this  practice  that  the  local  agents  are  prepared  to 
receive  and  properly  care  for  the  particular  ma- 
chines which  they  represent  and  several  freight-for- 
warding companies  also  make  a  specialty  of 
this  service.  On  our  arrival  our  car  was  ready  for 
the  road  and  it  proved  extremely  serviceable  in  get- 
ting us  located.  Los  Angeles  is  the  logical  center 
from  which  to  explore  the  southern  half  of  the 
state  and  we  were  fortunate  in  securing  a  fur- 
nished house  in  a  good  part  of  the  city  without 
much  delay.  We  found  a  fair  percentage  of 
the  Los  Angeles  population  ready  to  move  out  on 
short  notice  and  to  turn  over  to  us  their  homes  and 
everything  in  them — for  a  consideration,  of 
course. 

On  our  second  sojourn  in  the  city  we  varied 
things  by  renting  furnished  apartments,  of  which 
there  are  an  endless  number  and  variety  to  choose 
from,  and  if  this  plan  did  not  prove  quite  so  satis- 
factory and  comfortable  as  the  house,  it  was  less 
expensive.  We  also  had  experience  on  several  later 
occasions  w^ith  numerous  hotels — Los  Angeles,  as 
might  be  expected,  is  well  supplied  with  hotels  of 
all  degrees  of  merit — ^but  our  experience  in  pre-war 
days  would  hardly  be  representative  of  the  present 
time,  especially  when  rates  are  considered.     The 

Alexandria  and  Angelus  were — ^and  doubtless  are 

12 


A  MOTOR  PARADISE 

— up  to  the  usual  metropolitan  standards  of  service 
and  comfort,  with  charges  to  correspond.  The 
Gates,  where  we  stopped  much  longer,  was  a  clean- 
ly and  comfortable  hotel  with  lower  rates  and  repre- 
sents a  large  class  of  similar  establishments  such  as 
the  Clark,  the  Stillwell,  the  Trinity,  the  Hay  ward, 
the  Roslyn,  the  Savoy,  and  many  others.  One  year 
we  tried  the  Leighton,  which  is  beautifully  located 
on  Westlake  Park  and  typical  of  several  outlying 
hotels  that  afford  more  quiet  and  greater  conveni- 
ence for  parking  and  handling  one's  car  than  can 
be  found  in  the  business  district.  Others  in  this 
class  are  the  Darby,  the  Hershey  Arms,  the  Holly- 
wood, and  the  Alvarado.  Los  Angeles,  for  all  its 
preeminence  as  a  tourist  city,  was  long  without  a 
resort  hotel  of  the  first  magnitude,  leaving  the  fa- 
mous Pasadena  hostelries  such  as  the  Green,  Ray- 
mond, Maryland  and  Huntington,  to  cater  to  the 
class  of  patrons  who  do  not  figure  costs  in  their 
quest  for  the  luxurious  in  hotel  service.  This 
shortage  was  supplied  in  1  920  by  the  erection  of  the 
Ambassador  Hotel  on  Wilshire  Boulevard — one  of 
the  largest  resort  hotels  in  the  world.  The  building 
is  surrounded  by  spacious  grounds  and  the  prop- 
erty is  said  to  represent  an  investment  of  $5,000,- 
000.  It  is  one  of  the  "objects  of  interest"  in 
Los  Angeles  and  will  be  visited  by  many  tourists 
who  may  not  care  to  pay  the  price  to  become  regu- 
lar guests.  After  our  experience  with  hotels, 
apartments  and  rented  houses,  we  finally  acquired 
a  home  of  our  own  in  the  "Queen  City  of  the 
Southwest,"  which,  of  course,  is  the  most  satisfac- 

13 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

tory  plan  of  all,  though  not  necessarily  the  cheap- 
est. 

Prior  to  the  Great  War  Los  Angeles  had  the 
reputation  of  being  a  place  where  one  could  live 
well  at  very  moderate  cost  and  hotels  and  restau- 
rants gave  the  very  best  for  little  money.  This  was 
all  sadly  changed  in  the  wave  of  profiteering  during 
and  following  the  war.  The  city  acquired  a  rather 
unenviable  reputation  for  charging  the  tourist  all 
the  traffic  would  bear — and  sometimes  a  little  more 
— until  finally  Government  statistics  ranked  Los 
Angeles  number  one  in  the  cost  of  living  among 
cities  of  its  class.  The  city  council  undertook  to 
combat  the  tendency  to  "grab"  by  passing  an  ordin- 
ance limiting  the  percentage  of  rental  an  owner 
might  charge  on  his  property — a  move  naturally 
contested  in  the  courts.  At  this  writing,  however, 
(  1  92 1  ) ,  the  tendency  of  prices  is  distinctly  down- 
ward and  this  may  reasonably  be  expected  to  con- 
tinue until  a  fair  basis  is  reached.  It  is  not  likely, 
how^ever,  that  pre-war  prices  will  ever  return  on 
many  items,  but  it  is  certain  that  Los  Angeles  will 
again  take  rank  as  a  city  where  one  may  live  per- 
manently or  for  a  time  at  comparatively  moderate 

cost.  h  ^''^■1*^'  I 

Public  utilities  of  the  city  never  advanced  their 
prices  to  compare  with  private  interests.  You  can 
still  ride  miles  on  a  street  car  for  a  nickel  and  tele- 
phone, gas  and  electric  concerns  get  only  slightly 
higher  rates  than  before  the  war.  Taxes  have  ad- 
vanced by  leaps  and  bounds,  but  are  frequently  ex- 
cused by  pointing  out  that  nowhere  do  you  get  so 

much  for  your  tax  money  as  in  California. 

14 


A  MOTOR  PARADISE 

Naturally,  the  automobile  and  allied  industries 
loom  large  in  Los  Angeles.  Garages  from  the  most 
palatial  and  perfectly  equipped  to  the  veriest  hole- 
in-the-wall  abound  in  all  parts  of  the  town.  Prices 
for  service  and  repairs  vary  greatly  but  the  level  is 
high — probably  one  hundred  per  cent  above  pre- 
war figures.  Competition,  however,  is  strong  and 
the  tendency  is  downward ;  but  only  a  general  wage 
lowering  can  bring  back  the  old-time  prices.  Gaso- 
line is  generally  cheaper  than  in  the  East,  while 
other  supplies  cost  about  the  same.  The  second- 
hand car  business  has  reached  vast  proportions, 
many  dealers  occupying  vacant  lots  where  old  cars 
of  all  models  and  degrees  brave  the  sun — and  some- 
times the  rain — while  waiting  for  a  purchaser.  Cars 
are  sold  with  agreement  to  buy  back  at  the  end  of  a 
tour  and  are  rented  without  driver  to  responsible 
parties.  You  do  not  have  to  bring  your  own  car  to 
enjoy  a  motor  tour  in  California;  in  fact  this  prac- 
tice is  not  so  common  as  it  used  to  be  except  in  case 
of  the  highest-grade  cars. 

Another  plan  is  to  drive  your  own  car  from 
your  Eastern  home  to  California  and  sell  it  when 
ready  to  go  back.  This  was  done  very  satisfactorily 
during  the  period  of  the  car  shortage  and  high  prices 
for  used  cars  following  the  war,  but  under  normal 
conditions  would  likely  involve  considerable  sacri- 
fice. The  ideal  method  for  the  motorist  who  has 
the  time  and  patience  is  to  make  the  round  trip  to 
California  in  his  own  car,  coming,  say,  over  the 
Lincoln  Highway  and  returning  over  the  Santa  Fe 
Trail  or  vice  versa,  according  to  the  time  of  the 
year.     The  latter  averages  by  far  the  best  of  the 

15 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

transcontinental  roads  and  is  passable  for  a  greater 
period  of  the  year  than  any  other.  In  fact,  it  is  an 
all-year-round  route  except  for  the  Raton  Pass  in 
New  Mexico,  and  this  may  be  avoided  by  a  detour 
into  Texas.  This  route  has  been  surveyed  and 
signed  by  the  Automobile  Club  of  Southern  Cali- 
fornia and  is  being  steadily  improved,  especially  in 
the  Western  states. 

Although  California  has  perhaps  the  best  all- 
the-year-round  climate  for  motoring,  it  was  our  im- 
pression that  the  months  of  April  and  May  are  the 
most  delightful  for  extensive  touring.  The  winter 
rains  will  have  ceased — though  we  found  our  first 
April  and  a  recent  May  notable  exceptions — and 
there  is  more  freedom  from  the  dust  that  becomes 
troublesome  in  some  localities  later  in  the  summer. 
The  country  will  be  at  its  best — snow-caps  will  still 
linger  on  the  higher  mountains;  the  foothills  will 
be  green  and  often  varied  with  great  dashes  of  color 
— white,  pale  yellow,  blue,  or  golden  yellow,  as 
some  particular  wild  flower  gains  the  mastery.  The 
orange  groves  w^ill  be  laden  w^ith  golden  globes  and 
sweet  with  blossoms,  and  the  roses  and  other  culti- 
vated flowers  will  still  be  in  their  prime.  The  air 
will  be  balmy  and  pleasant  during  the  day,  with  a 
sharp  drop  towards  evening  that  makes  it  advisable 
to  keep  a  good  supply  of  wraps  in  the  car.  An  oc- 
casional shower  will  hardly  interfere  with  one's 
going,  even  on  the  unimproved  country  road. 

For  there  is  still  unimproved  country  road, 

despite  all  I  have  said  in  praise  of  the  new  highways. 

A  great  deal  of  our  touring  was  over  roads  seldom 

good  at  their  best  and  often  quite  impassable  during 

16 


A  MOTOR  PARADISE 

the  heavy  winter  rains.  There  were  stretches  of 
"adobe"  to  remind  us  of  "gumbo"  at  home;  there 
were  miles  of  heavy  sand  and  there  were  rough, 
stone-strewn  trails  hardly  deserving  to  be  called 
roads  at  all!  These  defects  are  being  mended  with 
almost  magical  rapidity,  but  California  is  a  vast 
state  and  with  all  her  progress  it  will  be  years  be- 
fore all  her  counties  attain  the  Los  Angeles  stand- 
ard. We  found  many  primitive  bridges  and  oftener 
no  bridges  at  all,  since  in  the  dry  season  there  is  no 
difficulty  in  fording  the  hard-bottom  streams,  and 
not  infrequently  the  streams  themselves  had  van- 
ished. But  in  winter  these  same  streams  are  often 
raging  torrents  that  defy  crossing  for  days  at  a  time. 
During  the  summer  and  early  autumn  months  the 
dust  will  be  deep  on  unimproved  roads  and  some  of 
the  mountain  passes  will  be  difficult  on  this  account. 
So  it  is  easy  to  see  that  even  California  climate  does 
not  afford  ideal  touring  conditions  the  year  round. 
Altogether,  the  months  of  April,  May,  and  June 
afford  the  best  average  of  roads  and  weather,  de- 
spite the  occasional  showers  that  one  may  expect 
during  the  earlier  part  of  this  period.  It  is  true  that 
during  these  months  a  few  of  the  mountain  roads 
will  be  closed  by  snow,  but  one  can  not  have  every- 
thing his  own  way,  and  I  believe  the  beauty  of  the 
country  and  climate  at  this  time  will  more  than 
offset  any  enforced  omissions.  The  trip  to  Yosem- 
ite  is  not  practical  during  this  period  over  existing 
routes,  though  it  is  to  be  hoped  the  proposed  all-the- 
year  road  will  be  a  reality  before  long.  The  Lake 
Tahoe  road  is  seldom  open  before  the  middle  of 
June,  and  this  delightful  trip  can  not  be  taken  dur- 

17 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

ing  the  early  spring  unless  the    tourist    is    content 
with  the  railway  trains. 

Our  several  tours  in  California  aggregated 
more  than  thirty  thousand  miles  and  extended  from 
Tia  Juana  to  the  Oregon  border.  The  scope  of  this 
volume,  however,  is  confined  to  the  southern  half 
of  the  state  and  the  greater  part  of  it  deals  with  the 
section  popularly  known  as  Southern  California — 
the  eight  counties  lying  south  of  Tehachapi  Pass. 
Of  course  we  traversed  some  roads  several  times, 
but  we  visited  most  of  the  interesting  points  of  the 
section — with  some  pretty  strenuous  trips,  as  will 
appear  in  due  course  of  my  narrative.  We  climbed 
many  mountains,  visited  the  endless  beaches, 
stopped  at  the  famous  hotels,  and  did  not  miss  a 
single  one  of  the  twenty  or  more  old  Spanish  mis- 
sions. We  saw^  the  orange  groves  and  palms  of 
Riverside  and  Redlands,  the  great  oaks  of  Paso 
Robles,  the  queer  old  cypresses  of  Monterey,  the 
Torrey  Pines  of  Lajolla,  the  lemon  groves  of  San 
Diego,  the  vast  wheatfields  of  the  San  Joaquin  and 
Salinas  Valleys,  the  cherry  orchards  of  San  Mateo, 
the  great  vineyards  of  the  Napa  and  Santa  Rosa 
Valleys,  the  lonely  beauty  of  Clear  Lake  Valley,  the 
giant  trees  of  Santa  Cruz,  the  Yosemite  Valley, 
Tahoe,  the  gem  of  mountain  lakes,  the  blossoming 
desert  of  Imperial,  and  a  thousand  other  things  that 
make  California  an  enchanted  land.  And  the  up- 
shot of  it  all  was  that  we  fell  in  love  with  the  Golden 
State — so  much  in  love  with  it  that  what  I  set  down 
may  be  tinged  with  prejudice;   but  what  story  of 

California  is  free  from  this  amiable  defect? 

18 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

When  we  first  left  the  confines  of  the  city  we 
steered  straight  for  the  sunset;  the  wayfarer  from 
the  far  inland  states  always  longs  for  a  glimpse  of 
the  ocean  and  it  is  usually  his  first  objective.  The 
road,  smooth  and  hard  as  polished  slate,  runs  for  a 
dozen  miles  between  green  fields,  w^ith  here  and 
there  a  fringe  of  palms  or  eucalyptus  trees  and 
showing  in  many  places  the  encroachments  of 
rapidly  growing  suburbs.  So  seductively  perfect  is 
the  road  that  the  twenty  miles  slip  away  almost  be-  i 
fore  we  are  aware;  we  find  ourselves  crossing  the 
canal  in  Venice  and  are  soon  surrounded  by  the 
wilderness  of  "attractions"  of  this  famous  resort. 

There  is  little  to  remind  us  of  its  Italian  name- 
sake save  the  wide  stretch  of  sea  that  breaks  into 
view  and  an  occasional  gondola  on  the  tiny  canal; 
in  the  main  it  is  far  more  suggestive  of  Coney  Island 
than  of  the  Queen  of  the  Adriatic.  To  one  vs^ho  has 
lost  his  boyish  zeal  for  "shooting  the  shoots"  and  a 
thousand  and  one  similar  startling  experiences,  or 
whose  curiosity  no  longer  impels  him  toward  freaks 
of  nature  and  chambers  of  horror,  there  will  be  little 
diversion  save  the  multifarious  phases  of  humanity 
always  manifest  in  such  surroundings.  On  gala 
days  it  is  interesting  to  differentiate  the  types  that 
pass  before  one,  from  the  countryman  from  the  in- 
land states,  "doing"  California  and  getting  his  first 

19 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

glimpse  of  a  metropolitan  resort,  to  the  fast  young 
sport  from  the  city,  to  whom  all  things  have  grown 
common  and  blase  and  who  has  motored  down  to 
Venice  because  he  happened  to  have  nowhere 
else  to  go. 

With  the  advent  of  prohibition  the  atmosphere 
of  the  place  has  noticeably  changed — the  tipsy  joy- 
rider is  not  so  much  in  evidence  nor  is  the  main 
highway  to  the  town  strewn  with  wrecked  cars  as 
of  yore.  But  for  all  this,  Venice  seems  as  lively  as 
ever  and  there  is  no  falling  off  in  its  popularity  as  a 
beach  resort.  This  is  evidenced  by  the  prompt  re- 
construction of  the  huge  amusement  pier  which 
was  totally  destroyed  by  fire  in  1 920.  It  has  been 
replaced  by  a  much  larger  structure  in  steel  and 
concrete — a  practical  guarantee  against  future  con- 
flagations — and  the  amusement  features  are  more 
numerous  and  varied  than  of  yore.  It  is  still  bound 
to  be  the  Mecca  of  the  tourist  and  vacationist  who 
needs  something  a  little  livelier  than  he  will  find  in 
Long  Beach  and  Redondo. 

But  to  return  from  this  little  digression — and 
my  reader  will  have  to  excuse  many  such,  perhaps, 
when  I  get  on  "motorological"  subjects — I  was  say- 
ing that  we  found  little  to  interest  us  in  the  Cali- 
fornia Venice  save  odd  specimens  of  humanity — 
and  no  doubt  w^e  ourselves  reciprocated  by  afford- 
ing like  entertainment  to  these  same  odd  specimens. 
After  our  first  trip  or  two — and  the  fine  boulevards 
tempted  us  to  a  good  many — we  usually  slipped 
into  the  narrow  "Speedway"  connecting  the  town 
with  Ocean  Park  and  Santa  Monica.    Why  they  call 

it  the  Speedway  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know,  for  it  is 

20 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

barely  a  dozen  feet  wide  in  places  and  intersected 
with  alleys  and  streets  every  few  feet,  so  that  the 
limit  of  fifteen  miles  is  really  dangerously  high. 
The  perfect  pavement,  however,  made  it  the  most 
comfortable  route — though  there  may  be  better 
now — and  it  also  takes  one  through  the  liveliest 
part  of  Ocean  Park,  another  resort  very  much  like 
Venice  and  almost  continuous  with  it.  These  places 
are  full  of  hotels  and  lodging-houses,  mostly  of  the 
less  pretentious  and  inexpensive  class,  and  they  are 
filled  during  the  winter  season  mainly  by  Eastern 
tourists.  In  the  summer  the  immense  bathing 
beaches  attract  crowds  from  the  city.  The  Pacific 
Electric  brings  its  daily  contingent  of  tourists  and 
the  streets  are  constantly  crowded  with  motors — 
sometimes  hundreds  of  them.  All  of  which  con- 
tribute to  the  animation  of  the  scene  in  these  pop- 
ular resorts. 

In  Santa  Monica  we  found  quite  a  different 
atmosphere;  it  is  a  residence  town  with  no  "amuse- 
ment" features  and  few  hotels,  depending  on  its 
neighbors  for  these  useful  adjuncts.  It  is  situated 
on  an  eminence  overlooking  the  Pacific  and  to  the 
north  lie  the  blue  ranges  of  the  Santa  Monica 
Mountains,  visible  from  every  part  of  town.  Ocean 
Drive,  a  broad  boulevard,  skirts  the  edge  of  the 
promontory,  screened  in  places  by  rows  of  palms, 
through  which  flashes  the  blue  expanse  of  the  sea. 
At  its  northern  extremity  the  drive  drops  down  a 
sharp  grade  to  the  floor  of  the  canyon,  which  opens 
on  a  wide,  sandy  beach — one  of  the  cleanest  and 
quietest  to  be  found  so  near  Los  Angeles. 

This  canyon,  with  its  huge    sycamores    and 

21 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

clear  creek  brawling  over  the  smooth  stones,  had 
long  been  an  ideal  resort  for  picnic  parties,  but  in 
the  course  of  a  single  year  we  found  it  much 
changed.  The  hillside  had  been  terraced  and  laid 
out  w^ith  drives  and  here  and  there  a  summer  house 
had  sprung  up,  fresh  w^ith  paint  or  stucco.  The 
floor  of  the  valley  was  also  platted  and  much  of  the 
wild-wood  effect  already  gone.  All  this  w^as  the 
result  of  a  great  "boom"  in  Santa  Monica  property, 
largely  the  work  of  real  estate  promoters.  Other 
additions  w^ere  being  planned  to  the  eastward  and 
all  signs  pointed  to  rapid  growth  of  the  town.  It 
already  has  many  fine  residences  and  cozy  bunga- 
lows embowered  in  flowers  and  shrubbery,  among 
which  roses,  geraniums  and  palms  of  different 
varieties  predominate. 

Leaving  the  town,  w^e  usually  followed  the 
highway  leading  through  the  grounds  of  the  Nation- 
al Soldiers'  Home,  three  or  four  miles  toward  the 
city.  This  great  institution,  in  a  beautiful  park 
with  a  wealth  of  semi-tropical  flowers  and  trees, 
seemed  indeed  an  ideal  home  for  the  pathetic,  blue- 
coated  veterans  who  wandered  slow^ly  about  the 
w^inding  paths.  The  highw^ay  passes  directly 
through  the  grounds  and  one  is  allowed  to  run 
slowly  over  the  network  of  macadam  driveways 
which  wind  about  the  huge  buildings.  At  the  time 
of  which  I  w^rite,  there  were  some  thirty-five  hun- 
dred old  soldiers  in  the  Home,  few  of  whom  had 
not  reached  the  age  of  three  score  and  ten.  Their 
infirmities  were  evidenced  by  the  slow  and  even 
painful  manner  in  which  many  moved  about,  by  the 
crowded  hospitals,  and  the  deaths — which  averaged 

22 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

three  daily.  True,  there  were  some  erect,  vigorous 
old  fellows  who  marched  along  with  something  of 
the  spirit  that  must  have  animated  them  a  half 
century  ago,  but  they  were  the  rare  exceptions. 
Visitors  are  welcomed  and  shown  through  all  the 
domestic  arrangements  of  the  Home;  the  old  fel- 
lows are  glad  to  act  in  the  capacity  of  guides,  afford- 
ing them,  as  it  does,  some  relief  from  the  monotony 
of  their  daily  routine.  So  perfect  are  the  climatic 
conditions  and  so  ideally  pleasant  the  surroundings 
that  it  seems  a  pity  that  the  veterans  in  all  such 
homes  over  the  country  might  not  be  gathered 
here.  We  were  told  that  this  plan  is  already  in  con- 
templation, and  it  is  expected,  as  the  ranks  of  the 
veterans  are  decimated,  to  finally  gather  the  rem- 
nant here,  closing  all  other  soldiers'  homes.  It  is  to 
be  hoped  that  the  consummation  of  the  plan  may 
not  be  too  long  delayed,  for  surely  the  benign  skies 
and  the  open-air  life  would  lengthen  the  years  of 
many  of  the  nation's  honored  wards. 

We  passed  through  the  grounds  of  the  Home 
many  times  and  stopped  more  than  once  to  see  the 
aviary — a  huge,  open-air,  wire  cage  filled  with  birds 
of  all  degrees,  from  tiny  African  finches  half  the 
size  of  sparrows  to  gorgeous  red,  blue,  green,  and 
mottled  parrots.  Many  of  these  were  accomplished 
conversationalists  and  it  speaks  well  for  the  old 
boys  of  the  Home  that  there  was  no  profanity  in 
the  vocabulary  of  these  queer  denizens  of  the 
tropics.  This  and  other  aviaries  which  we  saw  im- 
pressed upon  us  the  possibilities  of  this  pleasant  fad 

in  California,  where  the  birds  can    live    the    year 

23 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

round  in  the  open  air  in  the  practical  freedom  of  a 
large  cage. 

Returning  from  the  Home  one  may  follow 
Wilshire  Boulevard,  which  passes  through  one  of 
the  most  pretentious  sections  of  the  city,  ending  at 
beautiful  Westlake  Park;  or  he  may  turn  into  Sun- 
set Boulevard  and  pass  through  Hollyw^ood.  A 
short  distance  from  the  Home  is  Beverly  Hills,  with 
its  immense  hotel — a  suburban  town  where  many 
Los  Angeles  citizens  have  summer  residences.  A 
vast  deal  of  work  has  been  done  by  the  promoters 
of  the  town;  the  well-paved  streets  are  bordered 
with  roses,  geraniums,  and  rows  of  palm  trees,  all 
skillfully  arranged  by  the  landscape-gardener.  It 
is  a  pretty  place,  though  it  seemed  to  us  that  the  sea 
winds  swept  it  rather  fiercely  during  several  of  the 
visits  we  made.  Another  unpleasant  feature  was 
the  groups  of  oil  derricks  w^hich  dot  the  surrounding 
jCountry,  though  these  will  doubtless  some  time 
disappear  with  the  exhaustion  of  the  fields.  The 
hotel  is  of  a  modified  mission  type,  with  solid  con- 
crete walls  and  red  tile  roof,  and  its  surroundings 
and  appointments  are  up  to  the  famous  California 
standard  at  such  resorts. 

Hollywood  is  now  continuous  with  the  city, 

but  it  has  lost  none  of  that  tropical  beauty  that  has 

long  made  it  famous.     Embowered  in  flowers  and 

palms,  with  an  occasional  lemon  grove,  its  cozy 

and  in  some  cases  palatial    homes    never    fail    to 

charm  the  newcomer.     Once  it  was  known  as  the 

home  of  Paul  de  Longpre,  the  flower  painter,  whose 

Moorish-looking  villa  was  the  goal  of  the  tourist 

and  whose  gorgeous  creations  were  a  never-failing 

24 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

wonder  to  the  rural  art  critic.  Alas,  the  once  pop- 
ular artist  is  dead  and  his  art  has  been  discredited 
by  the  wiseacres;  he  was  "photographic" — indeed, 
they  accuse  him  of  producing  colored  photographs 
as  original  compositions.  But  peace  be  to  the 
painter's  ashes — whether  the  charge  of  his  detract- 
ors be  true  or  not,  he  delighted  thousands  with  his 
highly  colored  representations  of  the  blooms  of  the 
Golden  State.  His  home  and  gardens  have  under- 
gone extensive  changes  and  improvements  and  it  is 
still  one  of  the  show  places  of  the  town. 

The  Hollywood  school  buildings  are  typical 
of  the  substantial  and  handsome  structures  one  sees 
everywhere  in  California;  in  equipment  and  ad- 
vanced methods  her  schools  are  not  surpassed  by 
any  state  in  the  Union. 

No  stretch  of  road  in  California — and  that  is\ 
almost  saying  in  all  the  world — is  more  tempting 
to  the  motorist  than  the  twenty  miles  between  Los 
Angeles  and  Long  Beach.  Broad,  nearly  level,  and 
almost  straight  away,  w^ith  perfect  surface  and  not 
a  depression  to  jolt  or  jar  a  swiftly  speeding  car. 
Long  Beach  Boulevard  would  put  even  a  five-year- 
old  model  on  its  mettle.  It  is  only  the  knowledge 
of  frequent  arrests  and  heavy  fines  that  keeps  one 
in  reasonable  bounds  on  such  an  ideal  speedway 
and  gives  leisure  to  contemplate  the  prosperous 
farming  lands  on  either  side.  Sugar  beets,  beans, 
and  small  grains  are  all  green  and  thriving,  for  most 
of  the  fields  are  irrigated.  There  is  an  occasional 
walnut  grove  along  the  way  and  in  places  the  road 
is  bordered  with    ranks    of    tall    eucalyptus    trees, 

stately  and  fragrant.     Several  fine  suburban  homes 

25 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

adjoin  the  boulevard  and  it  is  doubtless  destined  to 
be  solidly  bordered  with  such. 

Long  Beach  is  the  largest  of  the  suburban  sea- 
side towns — the  new  census  gives  it  a  population  of 
over  55,000 — and  is  more  a  place  of  homes  than  its 
neighbor,  Venice.  Its  beach  and  amusement  con- 
comitants are  not  its  chief  end  of  existence;  it  is  a 
thriving  city  of  pretty — though  in  the  main  unpre- 
tentious— homes  bordering  upon  broad,  well-paved 
streets,  and  it  has  a  substantial  and  handsome  busi- 
ness center.  You  w^ill  especially  note  its  churches, 
some  of  them  imposing  stone  structures  that  would 
do  credit  to  the  metropolis.  Religious  and  moral 
sentiment  is  strong  in  Long  Beach;  it  was  a  "dry" 
town,  having  abolished  saloons  by  an  overwhelm- 
ing vote,  long  before  prohibition  became  the  law 
of  the  land.  The  town  is  pre-eminently  the  haven 
of  a  large  number  of  eastern  people  who  come  to 
California  for  a  considerable  stay — as  cheaply  as  it 
can  possibly  be  done — and  there  are  many  lodging- 
houses  and  cottages  to  supply  this  demand.  And  it 
is  surprising  how  economically  and  comfortably 
many  of  these  people  pass  the  winter  months  in  the 
town  and  how  regularly  they  return  year  after  year. 
Many  others  have  become  permanent  residents  and 
among  them  you  will  find  the  most  enthusiastic  and 
uncompromising  "boosters"  for  the  tow^n — and 
California.  And,  indeed.  Long  Beach  is  an  ideal 
place  for  one  to  retire  and  take  life  easy ;  the  climate 
is  even  more  equable  than  that  of  Los  Angeles; 
frost  is  almost  unknown  and  the  summer  heat  is 
tempered  by  the  sea.  The  church  and  social  activi- 
ties appeal  to  many  and  the  seaside  amusement  fea- 

26 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

tures  are  a  good  antidote  for  ennui.  There  are  not 
a  few  old  fellows  who  fall  into  a  mild  dissipation  of 
some  sort  at  one  or  the  other  of  the  catch-penny 
affairs  along  the  promenade.  I  was  amused  at 
one  of  these — a  grizzled  old  veteran,  who  confessed 
to  being  upwards  of  seventy — who  could  not  resist 
the  fascination  of  the  shooting  galleries;  and  I  knew 
another  well  over  eighty  who  was  a  regular  bather 
in  the  surf  all  through  the  winter  months. 

A  little  to  the  east  of  Long  Beach  is  Naples, 
another  of  the  seaside  towns,  which  has  recently 
been  connected  with  Long  Beach  by  a  fine  boule- 
vard. It  gives  promise  of  becoming  a  very  pretty 
place,  though  at  present  it  does  not  seem  much  fre- 
quented by  tourists.  About  equally  distant  to  the 
westward  is  San  Pedro,  the  port  of  Los  Angeles. 
and  really  a  part  of  the  city,  a  narrow  strip  some 
two  miles  wide  connecting  the  village  and  metro- 
polis. This  was  done  to  make  Los  Angeles  an 
actual  seaport  and  to  encourage  the  improvement 
of  San  Pedro  Harbor.  The  harbor  is  largely  arti- 
ficial, being  enclosed  by  a  stone  breakwater  built 
jointly  by  Government  appropriations  and  by  bond 
issues  of  the  citizens  of  Los  Angeles.  The  ocean 
is  cut  off  by  Catalina  Island,  which  shelters  San 
Pedro  to  some  extent  from  the  effects  of  heavy 
storms  and  makes  the  breakwater  practicable.  It  is 
built  of  solid  granite  blocks  of  immense  size,  some 
of  them  weighing  as  much  as  forty  tons  each.  It  is 
a  little  more  than  two  miles  long  and  the  water  is 
forty-five  feet  deep  at  the  outer  end  where  the  U. 
S.  Lighthouse  stands.  There  is  no  bar,  and  ocean- 
going vessels  can  go  to  anchor    under    their    own 

27 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

steam.  There  are  at  present  about  eight  miles  of 
concrete  wharfage  and  space  permits  increasing 
this  to  thirty  miles  as  traffic  may  require.  Improve- 
ments completed  and  under  way  represent  an  in- 
vestment of  more  than  twenty  million  dollars.  The 
World  War  put  San  Pedro  on  the  map  as  a  great 
ship-building  point;  there  are  two  large  yards  for 
construction  of  steel  ships  and  one  for  wooden 
vessels.  These  will  be  of  great  interest  to  the  tour- 
ist from  inland  states.  A  dry  dock  of  sufficient 
capacity  for  the  largest  ocean-going  steamers  is 
under  construction  and  will  afford  every  facility  for 
repairing  and  overhauling  warships  and  merchant 
vessels.  All  of  which  indicates  that  Los  Angeles* 
claim  as  an  ocean  port  of  first  magnitude  has  a  sub- 
stantial foundation  and  that  its  early  fulfillment  is 
well  assured.  A  broad  boulevard  now  joins  the 
widely  separated  parts  of  the  city  and  a  large  pro- 
portion of  the  freight  traffic  goes  over  this  in  motor 
trucks,  which,  I  am  told,  give  cheaper  and  quicker 
service  than  the  steam  railroad. 

Aside  from  the  shipyards,  San  Pedro  has  not 
much  to  interest  the  tourist;  there  is  a  pretty  park 
at  Point  Fermin  from  which  one  may  view  some 
magnificent  coast  scenery.  A  steep  descent  near 
at  hand  takes  one  down  to  an  ancient  Spanish  ranch 
house  curiously  situated  on  the  water's  edge  and 
hidden  in  a  jungle  of  neglected  palms  and  shrub- 
bery. On  an  eminence  overlooking  the  town  and 
harbor  is  located  Fort  McArthur  with  several  disap- 
pearing guns  of  immense  caliber.  There  are  also 
extensive  naval  barracks  and  storehouses  on    the 

28 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

wharf  and  usually  several  United  States  warships 
are  riding  at  anchor  in  the  harbor. 

The  new  boulevard  from  San  Pedro  to  Redon- 
do,  however,  has  quite  enough  of  beauty  to  atone 
for  any  lack  of  it  on  the  way  to  the  harbor  town 
from  the  city,  especially  if  one  is  fortunate  in  the 
day.  In  springtime  the  low  rounded  hills  on  either 
side  are  covered  with  verdure — meadows  and  grain 
fields — and  these  are  spangled  with  great  dashes  of 
blue  flowers,  which  in  some  places  have  almost 
gained  the  mastery.  The  perfect  road  sweeps  along 
the  hillsides  in  w^ide  curves  and  easy  grades  and 
there  is  little  to  hinder  one  from  giving  rein  to  the 
motor  if  he  so  elects.  But  we  prefer  an  easy  jog, 
pausing  to  gather  a  handful  of  the  violet-blue 
flowers  and  to  contemplate  the  glorious  panorama 
which  spreads  out  before  us.  Beyond  a  wide  plain 
lie  the  mountain  ranges,  softened  by  a  thin  blue 
haze  through  which  snow-capped  summits  gleam  in 
the  low  afternoon  sun.  As  we  come  over  the  hill 
just  before  reaching  Redondo,  the  Pacifie  breaks 
into  view — deep  violet  near  the  shore  and  shimmer- 
ing blue  out  toward  the  horizon. 

We  enter  the  town  by  the  main  street,  which 
follows  the  shore  high  above  the  sea  and  is  bordered 
by  many  pleasant  cottages  almost  hidden  in  flowers. 
It  is  one  of  the  most  beautifully  situated  of  the  coast 
towns,  occupying  a  sharply  rising  hill  which  slopes 
down  to  a  fine  beach.  On  the  bluff  we  pass  a  hand- 
some park — its  banks  ablaze  with  amethyst  sea 
moss — and  the  grounds  of  Hotel  Redondo,  (since 
closed  and  falling  into  decay)  elaborately  laid  out 
and  filled  with  semi-tropical    plants    and    flowers. 

29 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

favored  by  the  f restless  climate.  The  air  is  redolent 
with  fragrance,  borne  to  us  on  the  fresh  sea-breeze 
and,  altogether,  our  first  impressions  of  Redondo 
are  favorable  indeed — nor  has  further  acquaintance 
reversed  our  judgment. 

There  are  the  customary  resort  features, 
though  these  are  not  so  numerous  or  extensive  as 
at  Venice.  Still,  Redondo  is  not  free  from  the  pas- 
sion for  the  superlative  everywhere  prevalent  in 
California,  and  proudly  boasts  of  the  "largest  warm 
salt-water  plunge  on  earth  and  the  biggest  dancing 
pavilion  in  the  state."  There  is  a  good  deal  of  fish- 
ing off  shore,  red  deep-sea  bass  being  the  principal 
catch.  Moonstones  and  variegated  pebbles  are 
common  on  the  beach  and  there  are  shops  for 
polishing  and  setting  these  in  inexpensive  styles. 
If  you  are  not  so  fortunate  as  to  pick  up  a  stone 
yourself,  you  will  be  eagerly  supplied  with  any 
quantity  by  numerous  small  urchins,  for  a  slight 
consideration. 

Redondo  is  not  without  commercial  interest, 
for  it  is  an  important  lumber  port  and  a  supply  sta- 
tion for  the  oil  trade.  There  are  car  shops  and  mills 
of  various  kinds.  Another  industry  which  partakes 
quite  as  much  of  the  aesthetic  as  the  practical  is 
evidenced  by  the  acres  of  sw^eet  peas  and  carnations 
which  bloom  profusely  about  the  town. 

In  returning  from  Redondo  to  the  city  we  went 
oftenest  over  the  new  boulevard  by  the  way  of 
Inglewood,  though  we  sometimes  followed  the 
coast  road  to  Venice,  entering  by  Washington 
Street.     These  roads  w^ere  not    as    yet    improved, 

though  they  were  good  in  summer  time.     Along 

30 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

the  coast  between  Redondo  and  Venice  one  passes 
Hermosa  and  Manhattan  Beaches  and  Playa  del 
Rey,  three  of  the  less  frequented  resorts.  They  are 
evidently  building  on  expectations  rather  than  any 
great  present  popularity;  a  few  seaside  cottages 
perched  on  the  shifting  sands  are  about  all  there  is 
to  be  seen  and  the  streets  are  mere  sandy  trails 
whose  existence  in  some  cases  you  would  never 
suspect  w^ere  it  not  for  the  signboards.  We  stuck 
closely  to  the  main  streets  of  the  towns  which,  in 
Manhattan,  at  least,  was  pretty  hard  going.  It  is  a 
trip  that  under  present  conditions  we  would  not 
care  to  repeat,  but  when  a  good  boulevard  skirts  the 
ocean  for  the  dozen  miles  between  these  points,  it 
will  no  doubt  be  one  of  the  popular  runs.  (The 
boulevard  has  since  been  built,  enabling  one  to  fol- 
low the  sea  from  El  Segundo  to  Redondo  with  per- 
fect ease  and  comfort.) 

I  have  written  chiefly  of  the  better-known 
coast  towns,  but  there  are  many  retired  resorts 
which  are  practically  deserted  except  for  the  sum- 
mer season.  One  may  often  find  a  pleasant  diver- 
sion in  one  of  these  places  on  a  fine  spring  day  be- 
fore the  rush  comes — and  if  he  goes  by  motor,  he 
can  leave  at  his  good  pleasure,  should  he  grow 
weary,  in  sublime  indifference  to  railroad  or  stage 
time-tables.  A  Los  Angeles  friend  who  has  a  de- 
cided penchant  for  these  retired  spots  proposed  that 
we  go  to  Newport  Beach  one  Saturday  afternoon 
and  we  gladly  accepted  this  guidance,  having  no 
very  clear  idea  ourselves  of  the  whereabouts  of 
Newport  Beach. 

We   followed  him  out   Stevenson   Boulevard 
31 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

into  Whittier  Road,  a  newly  built  highway  running 
through  a  fertile  truck-gardening  country  to  the 
pleasant  village  founded  by  a  community  of 
Quakers  who  named  it  in  honor  of  their  beloved 
poet.  One  can  not  help  thinking  how  Whittier 
himself  would  have  shrunk  from  such  notoriety, 
but  he  w^ould  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  his 
namesake  could  he  see  it  to-day — a  thriving,  well- 
paved  town  of  some  eight  thousand  people.  It 
stands  in  the  edge  of  a  famous  orange-growing  sec- 
tion, which  extends  along  the  highway  for  twenty 
miles  or  more  and  which  produces  some  of  the 
finest  citrus  fruit  in  California.  Lemon  and  w^alnut 
groves  are  also  common  and  occasional  fig  and 
olive  trees  may  be  seen.  The  bronze-green  trees, 
with  their  golden  globes  and  sweet  blossoms,  crowd 
up  to  the  very  edge  of  the  highway  for  miles — ^with 
here  and  there  a  comfortable  ranch-house. 

We  asked  permission  to  eat  our  picnic  dinner 
on  the  lawn  in  front  of  one  of  these,  and  the  mis- 
tress not  only  gladly  accorded  the  privilege,  but 
brought  out  rugs  for  us  to  sit  upon.  A  huge  pepper 
tree  screened  the  rays  of  the  sun;  an  irrigating 
hydrant  supplied  us  with  cool  crystal  w^ater;  and 
the  contents  of  our  lunch-baskets,  w^ith  hot  coffee 
from  our  thermos  bottles,  afforded  a  banquet  that 
no  hotel  or  restaurant  could  equal. 

Further  conversation  with  the  mistress  of  the 
ranch  developed  the  fact  that  she  had  come  from 
our  home  state,  and  w^e  even  unearthed  mutual  ac- 
quaintances. We  must,  of  course,  inspect  the  fine 
grove  of  seven  acres  of  Valencias  loaded  with  fruit 
about  ready  for  the  market.     It    was    a    beautiful 

32 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

grove  of  large  trees  in  prime  condition  and  no  doubt 
worth  five  or  six  thousand  dollars  per  acre.  The 
crop,  with  the  high  prices  that  prevailed  at  that 
time,  must  have  equaled  from  one-third  to  half  the 
value  of  the  land  itself.  Such  a  ranch,  on  the  broad, 
well-improved  highway,  certainly  attains  very 
nearly  the  ideal  of  fruit-farming  and  makes  one  for- 
get the  other  side  of  the  story — and  we  must  con- 
fess that  there  is  another  side  to  the  story  of  citrus 
fruit-farming  in  California. 

The  fine  road  ended  abruptly  when  we  entered 
Orange  County,  a  few  miles  beyond  Whittier,  for 
Orange  County  had  done  little  as  yet  to  improve  her 
highways,  and  we  ran  for  some  miles  on  an  old 
oiled  road  which  for  genuine  discomfort  has  few 
equals.  One  time  it  was  thought  that  the  problem 
of  a  cheap  and  easily  built  road  was  solved  in  Cali- 
fornia— simply  sprinkle  the  sandy  surface  with 
crude  oil  and  let  it  pack  down  under  traffic.  This 
worked  very  well  for  a  short  time  until  the  surface 
began  to  break  into  holes,  which  daily  grew  larger 
and  more  numerous  until  no  one  could  drive  a  mo- 
tor car  over  them  without  an  unmerciful  jolting. 
And  such  was  the  road  from  Fullerton  to  Santa 
Ana  when  we  traversed  it,  but  such  it  will  not  long 
remain,  for  Orange  County  has  voted  a  million  and 
a  quarter  to  improve  her  roads  and  she  will  get  her 
share  of  the  new  state  highway  system  as  well. 
(All  of  which,  I  may  interject  here,  has  since  come 
to  pass  and  the  fortunate  tourist  may  now  traverse 
every  part  of  the  county  over  roads  that  will  com- 
fortably admit  of  all  the  speed  the  law  allows) . 

Santa  Ana  is  a  quiet  town  of  fifteen  thousand, 
33 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

depending  on  the  fruit-raising  and  farming  country 
that  surrounds  it.  It  is  a  cozy  place,  its  wide  ave- 
nues shaded  by  long  rows  of  peppers  and  sycamores 
and  its  homes  embowered  by  palms  and  flowers. 
Almost  adjoining  it  to  the  northeast  is  the  beautiful 
village  of  Orange — rightly  named,  for  it  is  nearly 
surrounded  by  a  solid  mass  of  orange  and  lemon 
groves.  In  the  center  of  its  business  section  is  a 
park,  gorgeous  w^ith  palms  and  flowers.  The  coun- 
try about  must  be  somewhat  sheltered,  for  it 
escaped  the  freeze  of  1913  and  was  reveling  in 
prosperity  with  a  great  orange  and  lemon  crop  that 
year. 

Just  beyond  the  mountain  range  to  the  east  is 
Orange  County  Park,  which  we  visited  on  another 
occasion.  It  is  a  fine  example  of  the  civic  progress 
of  these  California  communities  in  providing  pleas- 
ure grounds  w^here  all  classes  of  people  may  have 
inexpensive  and  delightful  country  outings.  It  is 
a  virgin  valley,  shaded  by  great  oaks  and  sycamores 
and  watered  by  a  clear  little  river,  the  only  depar- 
ture from  nature  being  the  winding  roads  and  picnic 
conveniences.  There  are  many  beautiful  camping 
sites,  which  are  always  occupied  during  the  sum- 
mer. Beyond  the  park  the  road  runs  up  Silverado 
Canyon,  following  the  course  of  the  stream,  which 
we  forded  many  times.  It  proved  rough  and  stony 
but  this  was  atoned  for  many  times  over  by  the 
sylvan  beauty  of  the  scenes  through  w^hich  we 
passed.  The  road  winds  through  the  trees,  w^hich 
overarch  it  at  times,  and  often  comes  out  into  open 
glades  which  afford  views  of  the  rugged  hills  on 
either  hand.     We  had  little  difl?iculty  in  finding  our 

34 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

way,  for  at  frequent  intervals  we  noted  signs,  "To 
Modjeska's  Ranch,"  for  the  great  Polish  actress 
once  had  a  country  home  deep  in  the  hills  and 
owned  a  thousand-acre  ranch  at  the  head  of  Silver- 
ado Canyon.  Here  about  thirty  years  ago  she  used 
to  come  for  rest  and  recreation,  but  shortly  before 
her  death  sold  the  ranch  to  the  present  owners,  the 
"Modjeska  Country  Club."  It  is  being  exploited  as 
a  summer  resort  and  is  open  to  the  public  generally. 
A  private  drive  leads  some  three  or  four  miles  from 
the  public  road  to  the  house,  which  is  sheltered 
under  a  cliff  like  hill  and  surrounded  by  a  park  orna- 
mented with  a  great  variety  of  trees  and  shrubs. 
This  was  one  of  Modjeska's  fads  and  her  friends 
sent  her  trees  and  plants  from  every  part  of  the 
world,  one  of  the  most  interesting  being  a  Jerusa- 
lem thorn,  which  appears  to  thrive  in  its  new  habi- 
tat. The  house  was  designed  by  Stanford  White 
— an  East-Indian  bungalow,  we  were  told,  but  it  im- 
presses one  as  a  crotchety  and  not  very  comfortable 
domicile.  The  actress  entertained  many  distin- 
guished people  at  the  Forest  of  Arden,  as  she  styled 
her  home,  among  them  the  author  of  "Quo  Vadis," 
who,  it  is  said,  wrote  most  of  that  famous  story 
here.  The  place  is  worth  visiting  for  the  beauty  of 
its  surroundings  as  w^ell  as  its  associations.  A  great 
many  summer  cottages  are  being  built  in  the  vicin- 
ity and  in  time  it  will  no  doubt  become  a  popular 
resort,  and,  with  a  little  improvement  in  the  canyon 
road,  a  favorite  run  for  motorists. 

Leaving  "Arden,"  we  crossed  the  hills  to  the 
east,  coming  into  the  coast  highway  at  El  Toro,  a 

rather  strenuous  climb  that  was  well  rewarded  by 

35 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

the  magnificent  scenes  that  greeted  us  from  the 
summit.  The  wooded  canyon  lay  far  beneath  us, 
diversified  by  a  few  widely  separated  ranch-houses 
and  cultivated  fields,  with  the  soft  silver-grey  blur 
of  a  great  olive  grove  in  the  center.  It  was  shut 
in  on  either  side  by  the  rugged  hill  ranges,  which 
gradually  faded  into  the  purple  hcize  of  distance. 
The  descent  w^as  an  easy  glide  over  a  moderate 
grade,  the  road  having  been  recently  improved. 
At  the  foot  of  the  grade  we  noticed  a  road  winding 
away  among  the  hills,  and  a  sign,  "To  the  silver 
mines,"  where  we  were  told  silver  is  still  mined  on 
a  considerable  scale. 

I  have  departed  quite  a  little  from  the  story  of 
our  run  to  Newport  Beach,  but  I  hope  the  digression 
was  w^orth  while.  From  Santa  Ana  a  poor  road — 
it  is  splendid  concrete  now — running  nearly  south 
took  us  to  our  destination.  It  was  deserted  save 
for  a  few  shopkeepers  and  boarding-house  people 
who  stick  to  their  posts  the  year  round.  There  w^as 
a  cheap-looking  hotel  with  a  number  of  single-room 
cottages  near  by.  We  preferred  the  latter  and 
found  them  clean  and  comfortable,  though  very 
simply  furnished.  The  meals  served  at  the  hotel, 
however,  were  hardly  such  as  to  create  an  intense 
desire  to  stay  indefinitely  and  after  our  second  ex- 
perience we  were  happy  to  think  that  we  had  a 
well-filled  lunch-basket  with  us.  The  beach  at 
Newport  is  one  of  the  finest  to  be  found  anywhere 
— a  stretch  of  smooth,  hard  sand  miles  long  and 
quite  free  from  the  debris  which  disfigures  the  more 
frequented  places.  We  were  greeted  by  a  wide 
sweep  of  quiet  ocean,  with  the  dim  blue  outlines 

36 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

of  Santa  Catalina  just  visible  in  the  distance.  To 
the  rear  of  the  beach  lies  the  lagoon-like  bay,  extend- 
ing some  miles  inland  and  surrounding  one  or  two 
small  islands  covered  with  summer  cottages.  East- 
ward is  Balboa  Beach  and  above  this  rise  the  rugged 
heights  of  Corona  Del  Mar.  A  motor  boat  runs 
between  this  point  and  Newport,  some  five  or  six 
miles  over  the  green,  shallow  waters  of  the  bay. 
We  proved  the  sole  passengers  for  the  day  and  after 
a  stiff  climb  to  the  heights  found  ourselves  on  a 
rugged  and  picturesque  bit  of  coast.  Here  and  there 
were  great  detached  masses  of  rock,  surrounded  by 
smooth  sand  when  the  tide  was  out,  and  pierced  in 
places  by  caves.  We  scrambled  down  to  the  sand 
and  found  a  quiet,  sheltered  nook  for  our  picnic 
dinner — which  was  doubly  enjoyable  after  the 
climb  over  the  rocks  and  our  partial  fast  at  the 
hotel.  Late  in  the  afternoon  we  found  our  boat 
waiting  at  the  wharf  at  Corona  and  returned  to 
Newport  in  time  to  drive  to  Los  Angeles  before 
nightfall. 

Newport  is  only  typical  of  several  retired  sea- 
side resorts — Huntington  Beach,  Bay  City,  Court 
Royal,  Clifton,  Hermosa,  Playa  del  Rey,  and  others, 
nearly  all  of  which  may  be  easily  reached  by  motor 
and  which  will  afford  many  pleasant  week-end  trips 
similar  to  the  Uttle  jaunt  to  Newport  which  1  have 
sketched. 

And  one  must  not  forget  Avalon — in  some 
respects  the  most  unique  and  charming  of  all, 
though  its  position  on  Santa  Catalina,  beyond 
twenty  miles  of  blue  billows,  might  logically  ex- 
clude it  from  a  motor-travel  book.     There  are  only 

37 


&/^<:*Of) 


i94G^i 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

twenty-five  miles  of  road  in  the  island — hardly 
enough  to  warrant  the  transport  of  a  motor,  though 
I  believe  it  has  been  done.  But  no  book  professing 
to  deal  with  Southern  California  could  omit  Avalon 
and  Catalina — and  the  motor  played  some  part, 
after  all,  for  we  drove  from  Los  Angeles  to  San 
Pedro  and  left  the  car  in  a  garage  while  we  boarded 
the  Cabrillo  for  the  enchanted  isle.  We  were  well 
in  advance  of  the  "season,"  which  invariably  fills 
Avalon  to  overflowing,  and  were  established  in 
comfortable  quarters  soon  after  our  arrival.  The 
town  is  made  up  largely  of  cottages  and  lodging- 
houses,  w^ith  a  mammoth  hotel  on  the  sea  front. 
It  is  situated  on  the  crescent-shaped  shore  of  a  beau- 
tiful little  bay  and  climbs  the  sharply  rising  hill  to 
the  rear  in  flower-covered  terraces. 

There  is  not  much  to  detain  the  casual  visitor 
in  the  village  itself,  especially  in  the  dull  season; 
no  doubt  there  is  more  going  on  in  the  summer, 
when  vacationists  from  Los  Angeles  throng  the 
place.  The  deserted  "tent  city" — minus  the  tents 
— the  empty  pavilion,  the  silent  dance  hall  and 
skating-rink,  all  mutely  testify  of  livelier  things 
than  w^e  are  w^itnessing  as  we  saunter  about  the 
place. 

But  there  is  one  diversion  for  which  Catalina 
is  famous  and  which  is  not  limited  to  the  tourist 
season — here  is  the  greatest  game  fishing-"ground" 
in  the  world,  where  even  the  novice,  under  favor- 
able conditions,  is  sure  of  a  catch  of  w^hich  he  can 
boast  all  the  rest  of  his  life.  Our  friend  who  accom- 
panied us  was  experienced  in  the  gentle  art  of  Ike 
Walton  as  practiced  about  the  Isle  of  Summer,  and 

38 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

before  long  had  engaged  a  launch  from  one  of  the 
numerous  "skippers"  who  were  lounging  about  the 
pier.  We  were  away  early  in  the  morning  for  Ship 
Island,  near  the  isthmus,  where  the  great  kelp  beds 
form  a  habitat  for  yellowtail  and  bass,  which  our 
skipper  assured  us  were  being  caught  daily  in  con- 
siderable numbers.  Tuna,  he  said,  w^ere  not  run- 
ning— and  he  really  made  few  promises  for  a  fisher- 
man. Our  boat  was  a  trim,  well-kept  little  craft, 
freshly  painted  and  scoured  and  quite  free  from  the 
numerous  smells  that  so  often  cling  about  such 
craft  and  assist  in  bringing  on  the  dreaded  mal  de 
mer.  Fortunately,  w^e  escaped  this  distressing 
malady ;  by  hugging  the  shore  we  had  comparative- 
ly still  w^ater  and  when  we  reached  our  destination 
w^e  found  the  sea  quiet  and  glassy — a  glorious  day 
— and  our  skipper  declared  the  conditions  ideal  for 
a  big  catch.  Our  hooks  were  baited  with  silvery 
sardines — not  the  tiny  creatures  such  as  we  get  in 
tins,  but  some  six  or  eight  inches  in  length — and  we 
began  to  circle  slowly  above  the  kelp  beds  near  Ship 
Rock.  Before  long  one  of  the  party  excitedly  cried, 
"A  strike!"  and  the  boat  headed  for  the  open  water, 
since  a  fish  w^ould  speedily  become  entangled  in  the 
kelp  and  lost. 

There  are  few  more  exciting  sports  than  bring- 
ing a  big  yellowtail  to  gaff,  for  he  is  one  of  the 
gamest  of  sea  fighters,  considering  his  size.  At 
first  he  is  seized  with  a  wild  desire  to  run  away  and 
it  means  barked  knuckles  and  scorched  fingers  to 
the  unwary  fisherman  who  lets  his  reel  get  out  of 
control.  Then  begin  a  long  struggle — a  sort  of  see- 
saw play — in  which  you  gain  a  few  yards  on  your 

39 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

catch  only  to  lose  it  again  and  again.  Suddenly 
your  quarry  seems  "all  in,"  and  he  lets  you  haul 
him  up  until  you  get  a  glimpse  of  his  shining  sides 
like  a  great  opal  in  the  pale  green  water.  The 
skipper  seizes  his  gaff  and  you  consider  the  victory 
won  at  last — you  are  even  formulating  the  tale  you 
are  going  to  tell  your  eastern  friends,  when — presto, 
he  is  away  like  a  flash.  Your  reel  fairly  buzzes 
while  three  hundred  yards  of  line  is  paid  out  and 
you  have  it  all  to  do  over  again.  But  patience  and 
perseverance  at  last  win — if  your  tackle  does  not 
break — and  the  fish,  too  exhausted  to  struggle 
longer,  is  gaffed  and  brought  aboard  by  the  skipper, 
who  takes  great  delight  in  every  catch,  since  a 
goodly  showing  at  the  pier  is  an  excellent  adver- 
tisement for  himself  and  his  boat. 

By  noon  we  had  three  fine  yellowtails  and  a 
number  of  rock  bass  to  our  credit  and  w^ere  quite 
ready  for  the  contents  of  our  lunch-baskets.  We 
landed  on  the  isthmus — the  narrow  neck  of  land  a 
few  hundred  feet  in  width  about  the  center  of  the 
island — and  found  a  pleasant  spot  for  our  luncheon. 
In  the  afternoon  we  had  three  more  successful 
battles  with  the  gamey  yellowtails — and,  of  course, 
the  usual  number  "got  away."  Homeward  bound, 
we  had  a  panorama  of  fifteen  miles  of  the  rugged 
island  coast — bold,  barren  cliffs  overhanging  deep 
blue  waters  and  brown  and  green  hills  stretching 
along  dark  little  canyons  running  up  from  the  sea. 
In  rare  cases  we  saw  a  cottage  or  two  in  these  can- 
yons and  in  places  the  hillsides  were  dotted  with 
wild  flowers,  which  bloom  in  great  variety  on  the 
island.     At  sunset  we  came  into  the  clear  waters 

40 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

of  Avalon  Harbor  and  our  skipper  soon  proudly 
displayed  our  catch  on  the  pier. 

After  dinner  we  saw  a  curious  spectacle  down 
at  the  beach — thousands  of  flying  fish  attracted  and 
dazzled  by  the  electric  lights  were  darting  wildly 
over  the  waters  and  in  some  instances  falling  high 
and  dry  on  the  sands.  On  the  pier  were  dozens  of 
men  and  boys  with  fish  spears  attached  to  ropes  and 
they  were  surprisingly  successful  in  taking  the  fish 
with  these  implements.  They  threw  the  barbed 
spear  at  the  fish  as  they  darted  about  and  drew  it 
back  with  the  rope,  often  bringing  the  quarry  with 
it.  The  fish  average  about  a  foot  in  length  and,  we 
were  told,  are  excellent  eating.  They  presented  a 
beautiful  sight  as  thousands  of  them  darted  over  the 
dark  waters  of  the  bay,  their  filmy,  winglike  fins 
gleaming  in  the  electric  lights. 

Besides  fishing,  the  sportsman  can  enjoy  a 
hunt  if  he  chooses,  for  wild  goats  are  found  in  the 
interior,  though  one  unacquainted  with  the  topog- 
raphy of  the  island  will  need  a  guide  and  a  horse. 
The  country  is  exceedingly  rugged  and  wild,  there 
are  few  trails,  and  cases  are  recorded  of  people  be- 
coming hopelessly  lost.  We  had  no  time  for  ex- 
ploring the  wilds  of  the  interior  and  perhaps  little 
inclination.  On  the  morning  before  our  homeward 
voyage  we  went  out  to  the  golf  links  lying  on  the 
hillsides  above  tne  town,  not  so  much  for  the  game 
— on  my  part,  at  least,  for  I  had  become  quite  rusty 
in  this  royal  sport  and  Avalon  links  would  be  the 
last  place  in  the  world  for  a  novice — as  for  the  de- 
lightful view  of  the  town  and  ocean  which  the  site 
affords.     Below  us  lay  the  village,  bending  around 

41 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

the  crescent-shaped  bay  which  gleamed  through  the 
gap  in  the  hills,  so  deeply,  intensely  blue  that  1 
could  think  of  nothing  so  like  it  as  lapis  lazuli — a 
solid,  still  blue  that  hardly  seemed  like  water.  After 
a  few  strokes,  which  sent  the  balls  into  inaccessible 
ravines  and  cactus  thickets,  I  gave  it  up  and  con- 
tented myself  with  watching  my  friend  struggle 
with  the  hazards — and  such  hazards!  Only  one 
who  has  actually  tried  the  Avalon  links  can  under- 
stand what  it  means  to  play  a  round  or  two  of  the 
nine  holes;  but,  after  all,  the  glorious  weather,  the 
entrancing  view,  and  the  lovely,  smooth-shaven 
greens  will  atone  for  a  good  many  lost  balls  and  no 
devotee  of  golf  who  visits  the  island  should  omit  a 
game  on  the  Avalon  links. 

Many  changes  have  been  wrought  in  the  state 
of  things  in  Catalina  since  the  foregoing  paragraphs 
were  first  written.  Formerly  the  island  belonged 
to  the  Bannings — an  old  Los  Angeles  family — ^who 
declined  to  sell  any  part  or  parcel  of  the  soil  until 
1918,  when  they  disposed  of  their  entire  interests 
to  a  Chicago  capitalist.  The  new  owner  began  a 
campaign  of  development  and  freely  sold  home- 
sites  in  the  island  to  all  comers.  A  fine  new  hotel, 
the  St.  Catherine,  w^as  built  to  replace  the  old  Metro- 
politan, which  burned  dow^n,  and  many  other  no- 
table improvements  have  been  made.  Great  efforts 
have  been  made  to  attract  tourists  to  the  island  and 
to  sell  sites  to  any  who  might  wish  a  resort  home 
in  Avalon.  A  new  million-dollar  steamer,  the 
"Avalon,"  makes  a  quicker  and  more  comfortable 
trip  than  formerly  and  we  may  predict  that  the  pop- 
ularity of  Catalina  will  wax  rather  than  wane. 

42 


in 

ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

Our  rambles  described  in  the  preceding  chapter 
were  confined  mainly  to  the  coast  side  of  the  city, 
but  there  is  quite  as  much  to  attract  and  delight  the 
motorist  over  toward  the  mountains.  Nor  are  the 
mountains  themselves  closed  to  his  explorations, 
for  there  are  a  number  of  trips  which  he  may  essay 
in  these  giant  hills,  ranging  from  an  easy  upward 
jog  to  really  nerve-racking  and  thrilling  ascents. 
Remember  I  am  dealing  with  the  motor  car,  which 
will  account  for  no  reference  to  famous  mountain 
trips  by  trolley  or  mule-back  trail,  familiar  to  nearly 
every  tourist  in  California.  Of  our  mountain 
jaunts  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Los  Angeles  we 
may  refer  to  two  as  being  the  most  memorable  and 
as  representing  the  two  extremes  referred  to. 

Lookout  Mountain,  one  of  the  high  hills  of  the 
Santa  Monica  Range  near  Hollywood,  has  a 
smooth,  beautifully  engineered  road  winding  in 
graceful  loops  to  the  summit.  It  passes  many 
wooded  canyons  and  affords  frequent  glimpses  of 
charming  scenery  as  one  ascends.  Nowhere  is  the 
grade  heavy — a  high-gear  proposition  for  a  well- 
powered  car — and  there  are  no  narrow,  self-like 
places  to  disturb  one's  nerves.  The  ascent  begins 
through  lovely  Laurel  Canyon  out  of  flower-be- 
decked Hollywood,  and  along  the  wayside  are  many 
attractive  spots  for  picnic  dinners.    At  one  of  these, 

43 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

fitted  with  tables  and  chairs,  and  sheltered  by  a 
huge  sycamore,  we  paused  for  luncheon,  with 
thanks  to  the  enterprising  real  estate  dealer  who 
maintained  the  place  for  public  use. 

From  Lookout  Point  one  has  a  far-reaching 
view  over  the  wide  plain  surrounding  the  city  and 
can  get  a  good  idea  of  the  relative  location  of  the 
suburban  towns.  The  day  we  chose  for  the  ascent 
was  not  the  most  favorable,  the  atmosphere  being 
anything  but  clear.  The  orange  groves  of  Pasadena 
and  San  Gabriel  were  half  hidden  in  a  soft  blue  haze 
and  the  seaside  view  was  cut  off  by  a  low-hanging 
fog.  To  the  north  the  Sierras  gleamed  dim  and 
ghostly  through  the  smoky  air,  and  the  green  foot- 
hills lent  a  touch  of  subdued  color  to  the  fore- 
ground. At  our  feet  lay  the  wide  plain  between 
the  city  and  the  sea,  studded  with  hundreds  of  un- 
sightly oil  derricks,  the  one  eye-sore  of  an  otherwise 
enchanting  landscape.  Descending,  w^e  followed  a 
separate  road  dow^n  the  mountain  the  greater  part 
of  the  distance,  thus  avoiding  the  necessity  of  pass- 
ing other  cars  on  the  steeper  grades  near  the 
summit. 

Near  the  close  of  our  second  tour  we  were 
seized  with  the  desire  to  add  the  ascent  of  Mount 
Wilson  to  our  experiences.  We  had  by  this  time 
climbed  dozens  of  mountain  roads  and  passes  and 
had  begun  to  consider  ourselves  experienced  motor 
mountaineers.  We  had  often  noted  from  Foothill 
Boulevard  the  brown  line  of  road  running  in  sharp 
angles  up  the  side  of  the  mountain  and  little  antici- 
pated that  this  ascent  would  be  more  nerve-racking 
than  Arrowhead  or  St.  Helena.     We  deferred  the 

44 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

trip  for  a  long  time  in  hopes  of  a  perfectly  cleat  day. 
but  perfectly  clear  days  are  rare  in  California  during 
the  summer  time.    Dust,  fog,  and  other  conditions 
combine  to  shroud  the  distance  in  a  soft  haze  often 
pleasing  to  the  artistic  sense  but  fatal  to  far-away 
views     The  Mount  Wilson  road  had  been  opened 
to  motor  cars  only  a  short  time  previous  to  our 
ascent.     It  had  been  in  existence  some  time  as  a 
rough  wagon  trail,  constructed  to  convey  the  ma- 
terials and  instruments  for  the  Carnegie  Observa- 
tory to  the  summit.    A  private  company  rebuilt  the 
trail  and  opened  a  resort  hotel  on  the  summit      1  he 
entrance  is  through  a  toUgate  just  north  of  ^asa- 
dena  and  the  distance  from  that  point  to  the  hotel 
is  about  nine  and  one-half  miles.    As  the  mountain 
is  about  six  thousand  feet  in  height,  the  grade  aver- 
ages ten  per  cent,   though  in  places  it  is  much 
steeper.     The  roadway  is  not  wide  enough  for  ve- 
hicles to  pass,  but  there  are  several  turn-outs  to  each 
mile  and  when  cars  meet  between  these,  the  one 
going  up  must  back  to  the  nearest  passing-place. 

Entering  through  the  tollgate,  we  ran  down  a 
sharp  declivity  to  a  high  bridge  across  the  canyon 
where  the  ascent  begins;  and  from  that  point  to  the 
summit  there  is  scarcly  a  downward  dip.    A  narrow 
shelf  with  barely  a  foot  or  two  between  your  wheels 
t£Z  precipice-pitching  upward  at  a  twenty^er 
cent  angle— greets  you  at  the  very  outs  art.      1  he 
To^d  runs  along  the  edge  of  the  bald,  bare  c  J 
which  fling  their  jagged  pomts  hundreds  of  fee 
above  and  fall  sheer-not  mfrequently-a  thou 
sand  or  more  beneath.    Every  few  - ^Z  Wk 
sharp  turn,  so  sharp  that  sometimes  we  had  to  back 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

at  these  corners  to  keep  the  outer  wheels  from  the 
edge — a  difficulty  greatly  increased  by  our  long 
wheel  base.  Our  motor,  which  usually  runs  quite 
cool,  began  to  boil  and  kept  it  up  steadily  until  we 
stopped  at  the  summit.  A  water  supply  is  found 
every  tw^o  or  three  miles,  w^ithout  which  few^  cars 
could  make  the  ascent.  It  will  be  low-gear  work 
generally,  even  for  powerful  motors — not  so  much 
on  account  of  the  grade  as  the  frequent  "hairpin" 
turns.  And  we  were  more  impressed  that  no  one 
should  undertake  the  climb  without  first  being  as- 
sured that  his  car  is  in  first-class  condition  through- 
out— particularly  the  tires,  since  a  change  would 
be  a  pretty  difficult  job  on  many  of  the  grades. 

As  we  continued  our  ascent  we  became  dimly 
aware  of  the  increasing  grandeur  of  the  view  far 
below  us.  I  say  dimly  aware,  for  the  driver  could 
cast  only  furtive  glances  from  the  road,  and  the  ner- 
vous people  in  the  rear  seat  refused  even  to  look 
downward  from  our  dizzy  perch.  So  we  stopped 
momentarily  at  a  few  of  the  w^ider  turns,  but  w^e 
found — as  on  Lookout — the  blue  haze  circum- 
scribed the  distant  view.  Just  beneath  us,  a  half 
mile  or  more  downward,  stretched  a  tangle  of 
wooded  canyons  and  beyond  these  the  low^  green 
foothills.  Pasadena  and  the  surrounding  orange- 
grove  country  lay  below  us  like  a  map,  the  bronze- 
green  trees  glistening  in  the  subdued  sunlight.  Los 
Angeles  seemed  a  silver-gray  blur,  and  the  seacoast 
and  Catalina,  which  can  be  seen  on  the  rare  clear 
days,  were  entirely  obliterated.  Not  all  of  the  road 
was  such  as  I  have  described.  About  midway  for 
a  mile  or  two  it  wound  through    forest    trees   and 

46 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

shrubbery,  the  slopes  glowing  with  the  purple 
bloom  of  the  mountain  lilac. 

There  was  little  at  the  summit  to  interest  us 
after  we  completed  our  strenuous  climb.  Visitors 
w^ere  not  admitted  to  the  Carnegie  Solar  Observa- 
tory, as  to  the  Lick  institution  on  Mount  Hamilton ; 
and  the  hotel,  having  recently  burned,  had  been  re- 
placed temporarily  w^ith  a  wood-and-canvas  struc- 
ture. Plans  were  completed  for  a  new  concrete 
building  and  we  w^ere  told  that  practically  all  the 
material  would  be  brought  up  the  trail  on  burros. 
The  view  from  the  summit  was  largely  obscured 
by  the  hazy  condition  of  the  atmosphere,  but  near 
at  hand  to  the  north  and  east  a  wild  and  impressive 
panorama  of  mountain  peaks  and  w^ooded  canyons 
greeted  our  vision.  The  night  view  of  the  plain 
between  the  mountains  and  sea,  we  were  told,  is 
the  most  wonderful  sight  from  Mount  Wilson. 
Fifty  cities  and  towns  can  be  seen,  each  as  a  glow 
of  light  varying  in  size  and  intensity,  from  the  vast 
glare  of  Los  Angeles  to  the  mere  dot  of  the  country 
village. 

We  did  not  care  to  remain  for  the  night  and 
as  we  ate  our  luncheon  on  the  veranda  of  the  make- 
shift hotel,  we  were  anxiously  thinking  of  the  de- 
scent. We  had  been  fortunate  in  meeting  no  one 
during  our  climb;  would  we  be  equally  lucky  in 
going  down  ?  Only  one  other  car  had  come  up  dur- 
ing the  day,  a  big  six-cylinder,  steaming  like  a  loco- 
motive; the  driver  removed  the  radiator  cap  and 
a  boiling  geyser  shot  twenty  feet  into  the  air.  A 
telephone  message  told  us  the  road  was  clear  at  the 
time  of  starting  and  we  were  happy  that  it  remained 

47 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

so  during  the  hour  and  a  quarter  consumed  in  the 
nine-mile  downward  crawl.  It  proved  as  strenuous 
as  the  climb  and  the  occupants  of  the  rear  seat  were 
on  the  verge  of  hysterics  most  of  the  time.  Brakes 
were  of  little  use — the  first  few  hundred  yards 
would  have  burned  them  up — and  we  depended  on 
"compression"  to  hold  back  the  car,  the  low  gear 
engaged  and  power  cut  off.  All  went  well  enough 
until  we  came  to  sharp  turns  where  we  must  reverse 
and  back  up  to  get  around  the  corner.  It  was  a  try- 
ing experience — not  necessarily  dangerous  (as  the 
road  company's  folder  declares)  if  one  exercises 
extreme  caution,  keeps  the  car  in  perfect  control, 
and  has  no  bad  luck  such  as  a  broken  part  or  burst- 
ing tire.  Down  we  crept,  anxiously  noting  the 
mileposts,  w^hich  seemed  an  interminable  distance 
apart,  or  furtively  glancing  at  the  ten-inch  strip 
between  our  outer  wheels  and  "a  thousand  feet  in 
depth  below,"  until  at  last  the  welcome  tollgate 
hove  in  sight  with  the  smooth  stretches  of  the  Alta- 
dena  Boulevard  beyond. 

"I  hope  you  enjoyed  your  trip,"  cheerily  said 
the  woman  who  opened  the  gate. 

"No,  indeed,"  came  from  the  rear  seat.  "It 
was  simply  horrid — I  don't  ever  w^ant  to  come  near 
Mount  Wilson  again  as  long  as  I  live!"  and  relief 
from  the  three-hours'  tension  came  in  a  burst  of 
tears. 

But  she  felt  better  about  it  after  a  little  as  we 
glided  along  the  fine  road  leading  through  Altadena 
into  the  orange  groves  and  strawberry  beds  around 
Glendale,  and  purchased  a  supply  of  the  freshly 
gathered  fruit.     But  even  to  this  day  I  have  never 

48 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

been  able  to  arouse  a  spark  of  enthusiasm  when  1 
speak  of  a  second  jaunt  up  Mount  Wilson,  for 
which  I  confess  a  secret  hankering. 

The  road  has  been  vastly  improved  since  the 
time  of  our  trip,  which  was  only  two  months  after 
it  was  opened  to  the  public.  The  turns  have  been 
widened,  more  passing  points  provided,  and  no  one 
need  be  deterred  from  essaying  the  climb  by  the 
harrowing  experiences  of  our  pioneer  venture. 

While  not  a  mountain  trip  in  the  sense  of  the 
ascent  of  Mount  Wilson,  the  road  through  Topango 
Canyon  will  furnish  plenty  of  thrills  for  the  nerv- 
ously indined— at  least  such  was  the  case  at  the 
time  we  undertook  the  sixty-eight  mile  round  by 
the  way  of  Santa  Monica  and  Calabasas,  returnmg 
by  the  San  Fernando  Boulevard.     At  Santa  Monica 
we  glided  down  to  the  beach  and  for  some  miles 
followed  the  Malibu  Road,  which  closely  skirts  the 
ocean  beneath  the  cliff-like  hills.     It  was  a  magnifi- 
cent run,  even  though  the  road  was  dusty,  rough, 
and    narrow    in    places,    with     occasional     sandy 
stretches.     It  was  a  glorious  day  and    the    placid, 
deep-blue  Pacific  shimmered  like  an  inland  lake. 
The    monotone    of    color   was    relieved   by    great 
patches  of  gleaming  purple  a  little  way  out  from  the 
shore,  due  to  beds  of  floating  kelp,  and   by    long 
white  breakers  which,  despite  the  unwonted  quiet 
of   the   sea,   came   rolling   in   on   the   long   sandy 
beaches  or  dashed  into  silvery  spray  on  the  frequent 
rocks.     We  passed  a  queer  little  Chinese  fisher  vil- 
lage-which  has  since  disappeared-nesthng  under 
the  sandy  cUffs;  most  of  the  inhabitants  were  clean- 
ing and  drying  fish  on  the  beach,  the  product,  we 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

were  told,  being  shipped  to  their  native  land.  We 
were  also  astonished  to  meet  people  in  fantastic 
costumes — girls  with  theatrical  make-up,  in  powder 
and  paint;  men  in  strange,  wild-west  toggery;  and 
groups  of  Indians,  resplendent  in  feathers  and  war- 
paint. All  of  which  puzzled  us  a  good  deal  until 
we  recalled  that  here  is  the  favorite  field  of  opera- 
tion of  one  of  the  numerous  moving-picture  com- 
panies which  make  Los  Angeles  their  headquarters. 

They  have  since  constructed  several  sham  vil- 
lages along  this  beach  road  and  in  the  near-by  hills. 
One  of  these  make-believe  hamlets  w^e  can  testify 
bears  a  very  passable  likeness  to  many  we  passed 
through  in  rural  England. 

We  followed  the  road  to  the  entrance  of  Mali- 
bu  Rancho,  a  bare  tract  stretching  many  miles  along 
the  sea  and  controlled  by  a  company  which  vigor- 
ously disputes  the  right  of  way  through  the  prop- 
erty. There  is  a  private  club  house  on  the  ranch 
and  no  doubt  the  members  do  not  care  to  be  jostled 
by  the  curious  motorists  who  wrander  this  way  in 
great  numbers  on  Sundays.  Threatening  placards 
forbade  trespassing  on  the  ranch,  but  a  far  stronger 
deterrent  to  the  motorist  was  a  quarter-of-a-mile 
stretch  of  bottomless  sand  just  at  the  entrance. 
Two  or  three  cars  just  ahead  of  us  attempted  to 
cross,  but  gave  it  up  after  a  deal  of  noisy  flounder- 
ing. Malibu  Rancho  had  little  attraction  for  us,  in 
any  event,  and  our  only  temptation  to  enter  its  for- 
bidden confines  was  doubtless  due  to  the  provoking 
placards,  but  it  was  not  strong  enough  to  entice  us 
into  the  treacherous  sand.     So  we  turned  about, 

50 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

retracing  our  way  three  or  four  miles  to  the  To- 
pango  Canyon  road. 

I  might  add  here  in  passing  that  the  county  has 
since  secured  the  right  to  build  a  public  highway 
through  Malibu  Rancho  after  a  long  legal  warfare 
following  condemnation  proceedings.  It  is  to 
constitute  a  link  in  the  proposed  ocean  highway 
between  Los  Angeles  and  Ventura. 

It  was  Sunday  and  hundreds  of  cars  thronged 
the  beach,  raising  clouds  of  dust,  and  we  frequently 
had  close  work  in  passing  those  we  met.  We  agreed 
that  Sunday  was  a  poor  day  for  Malibu  Beach  road, 
as  contrasted  with  the  quiet  of  a  former  week-day 
run.     The  Canyon  road  branches  abruptly  to  the 
right,  ascending  a  sharp  hill,  and  then  dropping  to 
the  bed  of  a  clear  little  creek,  which  it  follows  for 
a  considerable  distance.      Some  twenty  times  we 
forded  the  stream  winding  in    and    out    among   a 
tangle  of  shrubbery  and  trees.     There  were  many 
grassy  little  glades— ideal  spots  for  picnic  dinners 
—some  of  which  were  occupied  by  motor  parties. 

Leaving  the  creek,  the  road  ascends  the  Santa 
Monica  Mountains,  crossing  three  ranges  in  steep, 
winding  grades.     Much  of  the  way  it  is  a  narrow, 
shelf -like  trail  with  occasional  turn-outs  for  passing. 
At  the  steepest,  narrowest  part  of  the  road  over  the 
western  range,  we  met  a  car;  the  panicky  passen- 
gers were  walking  down  the  hill,  while  the  driver 
was  yelling  like  a  madman  for  us  to  get  out  of  his 
way     We  cautiously  backed  down  the  grade  to  the 
nearest  turn-out  and  let  him  crawl  past,  with  his 
passengers  following  on  foot— a  sample  of  sights 
we  saw  more  than  once  on    California    mountain 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

roads.  Such  people,  it  would  seem,  would  do  well 
to  stick  to  the  boulevards.  Crossing  the  wooded 
valley  between  the  ranges,  we  came  to  the  eastern 
grade,  which  proved  the  steeper  of  the  two.  How 
our  panicky  friends  ever  got  over  it  puzzled  us.  In 
the  valley  w^e  saw  a  few  lonely  little  ranches  and  the 
ubiquitous  summer-resort  camp. 

The  ascent  of  the  second  grade  was  not  so 
steep  as  the  descent,  which  was  terrific,  portions  of 
it  being  not  less  than  twenty-five  per  cent.  The 
sharpest  pitch  is  just  at  the  summit,  and  we  were 
told  that  dozens  of  cars  stalled  here — many  for  lack 
of  gasoline.  Here  we  met  another  car,  passengers 
on  foot  and  the  driver  trying  to  coax  his  engine  up 
the  hill.  After  several  futile  attempts  he  got  it  go- 
ing, scraping  our  car  with  his  fender  as  he  passed — 
we  had  turned  out  as  far  as  possible  and  were  wait- 
ing for  him.  One  of  the  ladies  declared  that  they 
had  been  touring  California  mountains  for  two 
months  and  this  w^as  the  first  grade  to  give  trouble. 
Later  we  came  over  this  grade  from  the  east,  finding 
it  an  exceedingly  heavy,  low-gear  grind,  but  our 
motor  was  on  its  best  behavior  and  carried  us  across 
without  a  hitch. 

But  if  the  climb  is  a  strenuous  and,  to  some 
people,  a  nerve-racking  one,  the  view  from  the  sum- 
mit is  well  worth  the  trouble.  To  the  east  stretches 
the  beautiful  San  Fernando  Valley,  lying  between 
the  Santa  Monica  and  San  Gabriel  Ranges.  It  is  a 
vast,  level  plain,  rapidly  being  brought  under  culti- 
vation ;  the  head  of  the  valley  just  beneath  is  stud- 
ded with  ranch  houses  and  here  and  there  in  the 
great  grainfields  stand  magnificent  oaks,  the  mon- 

52 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

archs  of  California    trees.     Summer   clouds   have 
gathered  while  we  were  crossing  the  hills  and  there 
is  a  wonderful  play  of  light  and  color  over  the  val- 
ley before  us.    Yonder  is  a  bright  belt  of  sunshme 
on  the  waving  grain  and  just  beyond  a  light  shower 
is  falling  from  the  feathery,  blue-gray  clouds.    btiU 
farther,  dimly  defined,  rise  the  rugged  peaks  of  the 
Sierras,  gleaming  with  an  occasional  fleck  oisnov,^ 
On  our  long  glide  down  the  winding  grade  the  wild 
flowers  tempt  us  to  pause— dainty  Mariposa  lilies, 
blue  larkspur,  and  others  which  we  can  not  name 
gleam  by  the  roadside  or  lend  to  the  thickets  and 
grainfields  a  dash  of  color. 

The  new  road,  since  completed,  roughly  fol- 
lows the  course  of  the  old,  but   its   wide,    smooth 
curves  and  easy  grades  bear  no  resemblance  to  the 
sharp  angles  and  desperate  pitches  of  the  ancient 
trail,  now  nearly  vanished.     The  driver  as  well  as 
the  passengers  may  enjoy  the  wide  views  over  the 
fertile  San  Fernando  Valley  and  the  endless  moun- 
tain vistas  that  greet  one  at  every  turn.     There  is 
some  really  impressive  scenery  as  the  road  drops 
down  the  canyon  toward  the  ocean.     The  beach 
road  has  also  been  greatly  improved  and  now  gives 
little  hint  of  the  narrow  dusty   trail   we    followed 
along  the  sea  when  bound  on   our   first   Topango 

venture.  ,  „  ,  ,  i    j 

The  little  wayside  village  of  Calabasas  marked 
our  turning-point  southward  into  the  valley  Here 
a  rude  country  inn  sheltered  by  a  mighty  oak  offers 
refreshment  to  the  dusty  wayfarer,  and  several  cars 
were  standing  in  front  of  it.  California,  indeed,  is 
becoming  like  England  in  the  number  and  excel- 

CO 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

lence  of  the  country  inns — thanks  largely  to  the 
roving  motor  car,  which  brings  patronage  to  these 
out-of-the-way  places.  Southward,  we  pursued 
our  way  through  the  vast  improvement  schemes  of 
the  San  Fernando  Land  Co.  The  coming  of  the 
great  Owens  River  Aqueduct — which  ends  near 
San  Fernando,  about  ten  miles  from  Calabasas, 
carrying  unlimited  water — is  changing  the  great 
plain  of  San  Fernando  Valley  from  a  waste  of  cac- 
tus and  yucca  into  a  veritable  garden.  Already 
much  land  has  been  cleared  and  planted  in  orchards 
or  grain,  and  broad,  level,  macadam  boulevards 
have  been  built  by  the  enterprising  improvement 
companies.  And  there  are  roads — bordered  w^ith 
pines  and  palms  and  endless  rows  of  red  and  pink 
roses,  in  full  bloom  at  this  time — destined  some  day 
to  become  as  glorious  as  the  famous  drives  about 
Redlands  and  Riverside.  Bungalows  and  more 
pretentious  residences  are  springing  up  on  all 
hands,  many  of  them  being  already  occupied.  The 
clean,  w^ell-built  towns  of  Lankershim  and  Van 
Nuys,  situated  in  this  lovely  region  and  connected 
by  the  boulevard,  make  strong  claims  for  their  fu- 
ture greatness,  and  w^hoever  studies  the  possibilities 
of  this  fertile  vale  will  be  slow  to  deny  them.  Even 
as  I  write  I  feel  a  sense  of  inadequacy  in  my  descrip- 
tions, knowing  that  almost  daily  changes  are 
wrought.  But  no  change  will  ever  lessen  the 
beauty  of  the  green  valley,  guarded  on  either  side 
by  serried  ranks  of  mighty  hills  and  dotted  with 
villages  and  farmhouses  surrounded  by  groves  of 
peach,  apricot,  and  olive  trees.  On  this  trip  we  re- 
turned to  the  city  by  Cahuenga  Pass,  a  road  which 

54 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

winds  in  easy  grades  through  the  range  of  hills  be- 
tween the  valleys  and  Hollywood. 

Another  hill  trip  just  off  the  San  Fernando 
Valley  is  worth  while,  though  the  road  at  the  time 
w^e  traversed  it  was  rough,  stony,  and  very  heavy 
in  places.  We  left  the  San  Fernando  Boulevard  at 
Roscoe  Station  on  the  Southern  Pacific  Railroad, 
about  four  miles  beyond  the  village  of  Burbank, 
and  passing  around  the  hills  through  groves  of 
lemon,  peach,  and  apricots,  came  to  the  lonely  little 
village  of  Sunland  nestling  beneath  its  giant  oaks. 
Beyond  this  the  narrow  road  clings  to  the  edges  of 
the  barren  and  stony  hills,  with  occasional  culti- 
vated spots  on  either  hand,  while  here  and  there 
wild  flowers  lend  color  to  an  otherwise  dreary 
monotone.  The  sweet-scented  yucca,  the  pink  cac- 
tus blooms,  and  many  other  varieties  of  delicate 
blossoms  crowded  up  to  the  roadside  at  the  time  of 
our  trip  through  the  pleasant  wilderness — a  wilder- 
ness, despite  the  proximity  of  a  great  city. 

A  few  miles  brought  us  to  the  projected  town 
of  La  Crescenta,  which  then  had  little  to  indicate  its 
existence  except  numerous  signs  marking  imagin- 
ary streets.  Its  main  boulevard  was  a  stony  trail 
inches  deep  in  sand  and  bordered  by  cactus  and 
bayonet  plants — but  it  may  be  different  now,  things 
change  so  rapidly  in  California.  Beyond  this  we 
ran  into  some  miles  of  highway  in  process  of  con- 
struction and  had  much  more  rough  going,  dodging 
through  fields,  fording  streams  and  arroyos,  and 
nearly  losing  our  way  in  the  falling  twilight.  Now 
a  broad,  smooth  highway  leads  down  Verdugo 
Canyon  from  La  Canada  to  the  pleasant  little  town 

55 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

of  Glendale — a  clean,  quiet  place  with  broad,  palm- 
bordered  streets — into  which  we  came  about  dusk. 

To-day  the  tourist  may  make  the  journey  I 
have  just  described  over  excellent  concrete  roads, 
though  he  must  make  a  short  detour  from  the  main 
route  if  he  wishes  to  pass  through  Sunland.  He 
may  continue  onward  from  Sunland  following  the 
foothills,  crossing  the  wide  wash  of  the  Tujunga 
River  and  passing  through  orange  and  lemon 
groves,  interspersed  with  fields  of  roses  and  other 
flowers  grown  by  Los  Angeles  florists,  until  he 
again  comes  into  the  main  highway  at  San  Fernan- 
do town.  Though  the  virgin  w^ilderness  that  so 
charmed  us  when  w^e  first  made  the  trip  is  no  longer 
so  marked,  this  little  run  is  still  one  of  the  most  de- 
lightful jaunts  in  Los  Angeles  County. 

Los  Feliz  Avenue,  by  which  we  returned  to  the 
city,  skirts  Griffith  Park,  the  greatest  pleasure 
ground  of  Los  Angeles.  Here  are  more  than  thirty- 
five  hundred  acres  of  oak-covered  hills,  donated 
some  years  ago  by  a  public-spirited  citizen  and  still 
in  the  process  of  conversion  into  a  great,  unspoiled, 
natural  playground  for  people  of  every  class.  A 
splendid  road  enters  the  park  from  Los  Feliz  Ave- 
nue and  for  several  miles  skirts  the  edge  of  the  hills 
hundreds  of  feet  above  the  river,  affording  a  magnif- 
icent view  of  the  valley,  w^ith  its  fruit  groves  and 
villages,  and  beyond  this  the  serried  peaks  of  the 
Verdugo  Range;  still  farther  rise  the  rugged  ranks 
of  the  Sierras,  cloud-swept  or  white  with  snow  at 
times.  Then  the  road  plunges  into  a  tangle  of  over- 
arching trees  and  crosses  and  recrosses  a  bright, 

5G 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

swift  stream  until  it  emerges  into  a  byway  leading 
out  into  San  Fernando  Boulevard. 

This  road  has  now  been  extended  until  it 
crosses  Hollywood  Mountain,  coming  into  the  city 
at  the  extreme  end  of  Western  Avenue.  It  is  a 
beautifully  engineered  road,  though  of  necessity 
there  are  some  "hairpin"  turns  and  moderately 
steep  grades.  Still,  a  lively  car  can  make  the  ascent 
either  way  on  "high"  and  there  is  everywhere 
plenty  of  room  to  pass.  No  description  of  the  won- 
derful series  of  views  that  unfold  as  one  reaches 
the  vantage  points  afforded  by  the  road  can  be  ade- 
quate. These  cover  the  San  Fernando  Valley  and 
mountain  ranges  beyond,  practically  all  of  the  city 
of  Los  Angeles  and  the  plain  stretching  away  to  the 
ocean — but  why  attempt  even  to  enumerate,  since 
no  motorist  who  visits  Los  Angeles  will  be  likely  to 
forget  the  Hollywood  Mountain  trip. 

The  crowning  beauty  of  Griffith  Park  is  its  un- 
molested state  of  nature ;  barring  the  roads,  it  must 
have  been  much  the  same  a  half  century  ago.  No 
formal  flower  beds  or  artificial  ponds  are  to  be  seen, 
but  there  are  wild  flowers  in  profusion  and  clear 
rivers  and  creeks.  There  are  many  spreading  oak 
trees,  underneath  which  rustic  tables  have  been 
placed,  and  near  at  hand  a  stone  oven  serves  the 
needs  of  picnic  parties,  w^hich  throng  to  Griffith 
Park  in  great  numbers.  One  day  we  met  numerous 
auto-loads  of  people  in  quaint  old-time  costumes, 
which  puzzled  us  somewhat  until  we  learned  that 
the  park  is  a  favorite  resort  for  the  motion-picture 
companies,  who  were  that  day  rehearsing  a  colonial 

scene. 

67 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

While  Griffith  Park  is  the  largest  and  wildest 
of  Los  Angeles  pleasure  grounds,  there  are  others 
which  will  appeal  to  the  motorist.  Elysian,  lying 
between  the  city  and  Pasadena,  is  second  largest 
and  affords  some  splendid  views  of  the  city  and  sur- 
rounding country.  A  motor  camp  ground  for  tour- 
ists has  recently  been  located  in  one  of  the  groves 
of  this  splendid  park.  Lincoln — until  recently 
Eastlake — Park,  with  its  zoological  garden,  lies 
along  El  Monte  Road  as  it  enters  the  city,  while 
Westlake  is  a  little  gem  in  the  old-time  swell  resi- 
dence section  now  rapidly  giving  way  to  hotels, 
apartments  and  business  houses.  A  little  farther 
westward  is  the  old-time  Sunset  Park,  unhappily 
rechristened  "Lafayette"  during  the  war,  a  pretty 
bit  of  gardening  surrounded  by  wide  boulevards. 
Sycamore  Park,  lying  along  Pasadena  Avenue  be- 
tween Los  Angeles  and  Pasadena,  is  another  well- 
kept  pleasure  ground  and  Echo  Park,  w^ith  a  charm- 
ing lake  surrounded  by  palms  and  trees,  is  but  a 
block  off  Sunset  Boulevard  on  Lake  Shore  Drive. 
Hollenbeck  Park  on  Boyle  Heights  in  the  older  resi- 
dence section  east  of  the  river,  is  very  beautiful 
but  perhaps  the  least  frequented  of  Los  Angeles 
playgrounds.  A  small  tree-bordered  lake  set  in  a 
depression  on  the  hill  is  crossed  by  a  high  arched 
bridge  from  which  one  has  charming  vistas  on 
either  hand. 

Exposition  Park  on  Figueroa  Street,  contains 
the  city  museum  and  picture  galleries  and  offers  to 
the  public  opportunity  for  many  kinds  of  open-air 
recreation.  The  greatest  interest  here,  however,  is 
the  wonderful  collection  of    bones    and    complete 

58 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

skeletons  of  mighty  prehistoric  animals  that  once 
roamed  the  tropic  plains  of  Southern  California. 
These  were  discovered  in  the  asphalt  pits  of  Rancho 
La  Brea,  which  lies  near  the  oil  fields  along  Wilshire 
Boulevard  just  west  of  the  city.  Remains  of  the 
woolly  mammoth,  the  imperial  elephant,  larger  than 
any  now  living,  the  giant  ground  sloth,  the  saber- 
toothed  tiger,  and  many  other  strange  extinct  ani- 
mals were  found  intermingled  in  the  heavy  black 
liquid  which  acted  at  once  as  a  trap  and  a  preserva- 
tive. Great  skill  has  been  shown  in  reconstruction 
of  the  skeletons,  which  are  realistically  mounted  to 
give  an  idea  of  the  size  and  characteristics  of  the 
animals.  After  the  visitor  has  made  a  round  of  the 
museum  and  read  the  interesting  booklet  which 
may  be  had  from  the  curator,  he  may  wish  to  drive 
out  West  Wilshire  Boulevard  and  inspect  the 
asphalt  pits,  which  may  be  seen  from  this  highway. 
Nor  should  one  forget  the  famous  Busch 
Gardens  in  Pasadena,  thrown  open  to  all  comers  by 
the  public-spirited  brewer.  If  you  can  not  drive 
your  car  into  them,  you  can  at  least  leave  it  at  the 
entrance  and  stroll  among  the  marvels  of  this  care- 
fully groomed  private  park.  And  if  a  newcomer, 
you  will  want  to  drive  about  the  town  itself  before 
you  go — truly  an  enchanted  city,  whose  homes 
revel  in  never-ending  summer.  Is  there  the  equal 
of  Orange  Grove  Avenue  in  the  world?  I  doubt  it. 
A  clean,  wide,  slate-smooth  street,  bordered  by 
magnificent  residences  embowered  in  flowers  and 
palms  and  surrounded  by  velvety  green  lawns,  ex- 
tends for  more  than  two  miles.  In  the  past  two 
decades  the  city  has  grown  from  a  village  of  nine 

59 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

thousand  people  to  some  five  times  that  number 
and  its  growth  still  proceeds  by  leaps  and  bounds. 
It  has  four  famous  resort  hotels,  whose  capacity  is 
constantly  taxed  during  the  winter  season,  and 
there  are  many  magnificent  churches  and  public 
buildings.  Its  beauty  and  culture,  together  with 
the  advantages  of  the  metropolis  which  elbows  it 
on  the  west,  and  the  unrivaled  climate  of  California, 
give  Pasadena  first  rank  among  the  residence  towns 
of  the  country. 

And  if  one  follows  the  long  stretch  of  Colo- 
rado Street  to  the  eastward,  it  will  lead  him  into 
Foothill  Boulevard,  and  I  doubt  if  in  all  California 
— ^which  is  to  say  in  all  the  vs^orld — there  is  a  more 
beautiful  roadw^ay  than  the  half  dozen  miles  be- 
tween Pasadena  and  Monrovia.  Here  the  Baldwin 
Oaks  skirt  the  highway  on  either  side — great  cen- 
tury-old Spanish  and  live  oaks,  some  gnarled  and 
twisted  into  a  thousand  fantastic  shapes  and  others 
the  very  acme  of  arboreal  symmetry — hundreds  of 
them,  hale  and  green  despite  their  age. 

I  met  an  enthusiastic  Californian  w^ho  w^as 
building  a  fine  house  in  the  tract  and  who  told  me 
that  he  came  to  the  state  thirty  years  ago  on  his 
honeymoon  and  was  so  enamored  with  the  country 
that  he  never  returned  east;  being  a  man  of  inde- 
pendent means,  he  was  fortunately  able  to  gratify 
his  predilection  in  this  particular.  With  the  advent 
of  the  motor  car  he  became  an  enthusiastic  devotee 
and  had  toured  in  every  county  in  the  state,  but 
had  seen,  he  declared,  no  spot  that  appealed  to  him 
so  strongly  as  an  ideal  home  site.  Straight  as  an 
arrow  through  the  beautiful  tract  runs  the  wide, 

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ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

level  Foothill  Boulevard,  bordered  by  oak,  pepper, 
locust,  and  walnut  trees  until  it  reaches  the  out- 
skirts of  Monrovia,  where  orange  groves  are  seen 
once  more. 

About  midway  a  road  branches  off  to  Sierra 
Madre,  a  quiet  little  village  nestling  in  the  foothills 
beneath  the  rugged  bulk  of  Mount  Wilson.  It  is 
famous  for  its  flowers,  and  every  spring  it  holds  a 
flower  show  where  a  great  variety  of  beautiful 
blooms  are  exhibited.  Just  above  the  town  is  a 
wooded  canyon,  a  favorite  resort  for  picnic  parties, 
where  nature  still  revels  in  her  pristine  glory. 
Mighty  oaks  and  sycamores  predominate,  with  a 
tangle  of  smaller  trees  and  shrubbery  beneath, 
while  down  the  dell  trickles  a  clear  mountain 
stream.  It  is  a  deUghtful  spot,  seemingly  infinitely 
remote  from  cities  and  boulevards — and  it  is  only 
typical  of  many  such  retreats  in  the  foot-hills  along 
the  mountain  range  which  offer  respite  to  the  mo- 
torist weary  of  sea  sands  and  city  streets. 


61 


IV 

ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

It  seems  anomalous  that  our  Far  West — the 
section  most  removed  from  the  point  of  discovery 
of  this  continent — should  have  a  history  antedating 
much  of  the  East  and  all  of  the  Middle  West  of  our 
country.  When  we  reflect  that  Santa  Fe  was  found- 
ed within  a  half  century  after  Columbus  landed, 
and  contests  with  St.  Augustine,  Florida,  for  the 
honor  of  being  the  oldest  settlement  within  the  pres- 
ent limits  of  the  United  States,  the  fact  becomes  the 
more  impressive. 

About  the  same  date — June  27,  I  542,  to  be 
exact — the  Spanish  explorer,  Juan  Cabrillo,  sailed 
from  the  port  of  Navidad  on  the  western  coast  of 
Mexico  with  two  small  vessels  and  made  the  first 
landing  of  white  men  w^ithin  the  limits  of  Califor- 
nia at  San  Diego,  in  the  month  of  September.  A 
few  days  later  he  sailed  northward  to  the  Bay  of 
San  Pedro,  and  landed  within  the  present  boun- 
daries of  Los  Angeles  to  obtain  water.  Indeed,  if 
he  climbed  the  hills  overlooking  the  harbor,  he  may 
have  viewed  the  plain  where  the  main  part  of  the 
city  now  stands.  But  he  did  not  linger  here;  by 
slow  stages  he  followed  the  coast  northward  as  far 
as  the  present  site  of  San  Francisco,  but  did  not 
enter  the  magnificent  bay.  On  the  homeward 
voyage  he  died  near  Santa  Barbara  in   1  543,  and 

the  expedition  returned  to  Mexico. 

62 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

Thirty  years  later  Sir  Francis  Drake  sailed 
along  the  coast,  but  there  is  no  record  of  his  landing 
anywhere  in  the  south.  In  1602  Philip  of  Spain 
despatched  a  second  expedition  under  Viscaino, 
who  covered  much  the  same  ground  as  Cabrillo, 
though  there  is  nothing  to  show  that  he  visited  the 
vicinity  of  Los  Angeles.  In  his  account  of  his  voy- 
age to  the  king  he  declared  that  the  country  was 
rich  and  fertile,  and  urged  that  he  be  made  the  head 
of  a  colonization  expedition,  but  his  death  in  1 606 
brought  his  plans  to  naught. 

For  one  hundred  and  sixty  years  afterwards 
no  white  man  visited  the  present  limits  of  Califor- 
nia, though  it  was  still  counted  a  possession  of  the 
king  of  Spain.  Not  until  the  revival  of  Spanish 
colonization  activities  under  Philip  II  did  Califor- 
nia engage  the  attention  of  Europe,  and  being — 
nominally  at  least — a  Spanish  possession,  the  king, 
with  the  co-operation  of  the  pope,  undertook  to 
establish  a  series  of  Catholic  missions  along  the 
coast.  The  enterprise  was  put  in  charge  of  Juni- 
pero  Serra,  a  Franciscan  monk  of  great  piety  and 
strength  of  character,  and  after  long  delay  and 
much  hardship,  he  arrived  at  San  Diego  in  July, 
I  769.  Missions  had  already  been  founded  in  the 
lower  peninsula  and  upon  these  Father  Serra 
planned  to  draw  for  priests  and  ecclesiastical  equip- 
ment necessary  in  the  establishments  which  he 
should  locate  in  his  new  field  of  work.  He  did  not 
proceed  northward  in  regular  order,  for  the  second 
mission  was  founded  at  Monterey  and  the  third  at 
San  Antonio. 

This  brings  us  to  the  point  to  which  the  fore- 

63 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

going  is  but  the  barest  outline — the  founding  of  the 
Mission  of  San  Gabriel  Archangel  near  the  city  of 
Los  Angeles  on  September  8,  1771.  Twenty-six 
years  later  to  a  day  the  second  mission  within  easy 
reach  of  the  city  was  established — San  Fernando 
Rey  de  Espana,  being  the  seventeenth  of  the 
twenty-one  Franciscan  religious  houses  on  the  Cali- 
fornia coast.  The  two  missions  near  the  city — San 
Gabriel,  six  miles  to  the  east,  and  San  Fernando, 
twenty  miles  northwest — will  be  among  the  first 
attractions  to  the  motorist  in  roving  about  Los 
Angeles,  and  we  visited  both  several  times  before 
undertaking  our  tour  of  the  King's  Highway.  Each 
has  much  of  interest  and  may  well  serve  to  create 
a  desire  for  an  acquaintance  with  the  remainder  of 
these  romantic  memorials  of  early  days  in  the 
Golden  State. 

San  Gabriel  is  a  little,  dust-browned  hamlet 
nestling  under  giant  pepper  and  eucalyptus  trees, 
lying  a  half  mile  off  the  splendid  boulevard  that 
bears  the  same  name.  It  has  but  a  few  hundred 
people  and  is  quite  unimportant  in  a  business  way. 
It  is  a  quiet  place,  surrounded  by  the  wide  sweep 
of  orange  groves,  and  would  attract  little  notice 
were  it  not  for  the  plain,  almost  rude,  structure  that 
rears  its  heavy  buttressed  walls  directly  by  the  road- 
side. It  is  a  long  and  narrow  building  of  large 
square  bricks,  covered  with  stucco  which  has  taken 
the  hue  of  old  ivory  from  the  long  procession  of 
years  that  have  passed  over  it.  Along  the  top  of 
the  front  wall  is  a  row  of  moss-green  bells,  each  in 
its  arched  stone  niche,  which  still  chime  melodious 
notes  at  vesper  time  and  which  lend  a  peculiarly 

64 


SAN   GABRIEL   MISSION 
From    Photograph    by   Putnam    &   Valentine 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

picturesque  appearance  to  the  unique  facade. 
True,  the  mission  has  been  much  restored  since  the 
adobe  walls  of  the  original  structure  were  reared  in 
1771.  The  winter  rains,  earthquakes,  and  hostile 
Indians,  all  wrought  havoc  on  the  building;  the 
arched  roof  was  thrown  down  by  the  quake  of  1812 
and  was  replaced  by  one  of  beams  and  tiles, 
which  was  later  superseded  by  the  present  shingle 
covering.  The  elaborate  ceiling  was  erected  in 
1 886,  but  seems  somewhat  out  of  keeping  with  the 
severe  simplicity  of  the  original  design. 

It  has  been  a  parish  church  since  the  American 
conquest  in  1 846,  though  its  old-time  glory  van- 
ished and  for  a  period  it  was  almost  forgotten.  But 
the  troops  of  tourists  w^ho  came  yearly  to  California 
rescued  it  from  oblivion.  The  coming  of  the  elec- 
tric car,  which  clangs  past  its  door,  brought  crowds 
daily;  and  when  the  motor  arrived  on  the  scene, 
old  San  Gabriel  became  a  shrine  of  pilgrimage  such 
as  it  never  was  in  its  palmiest  days.  Now  a  brown- 
robed  priest  welcomes  you  at  the  door,  collects  a 
modest  fee — to  be  devoted  to  maintenance  and 
restoration — and  conducts  you  about  every  part  of 
the  ancient  building.  He  leads  you  to  the  roof  and 
shows  you  the  bells  at  close  range,  and  you  may  as 
a  special  favor  be  allowed  to  test  their  musical 
qualities.  They  are  Spanish  bells,  older  than  the 
mission,  and  are  looked  upon  by  the  fathers  with  a 
pride  that  verges  on  reverence.  Then  you  will  be 
shown  the  curios,  the  relics,  paintings,  vestments, 
old  manuscripts,  and  books,  some  of  doubtful  value 
and  authenticity  and  others  of  real  antiquity  and 
importance.     You  will  be  given  a  glimpse  into   the 

65 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

quiet  burying  ground,  where  many  of  the  fathers 
are  at  rest  and  beyond  which  is  the  sheen  of  orange 
groves  and  the  blue  peaks  of  the  Sierras.  The 
monster  grapevine  that  supplied  the  cellars  of  the 
old  padres  will  not  be  overlooked  and  many  rude 
utensils  of  early  days  may  be  seen  scattered  about 
the  place.  It  is  all  very  quaint  and  interesting,  this 
bit  of  old-world  mediaevalism  transplanted  to  the 
new  world  by  the  w^estern  sea  and  about  w^hich  ha-:^ 
grown  up  one  of  the  most  enlightened  and  prosper- 
ous communities  in  the  whole  country. 

You  will  be  told  as  much  of  its  story  as  you 
may  w^ish  to  hear;  how  one  time  this  fertile  plain 
about  the  mission  was  tilled  by  the  Indians  whom 
the  padres  had  instructed  and  partially  civilized — 
at  one  time  as  many  as  five  thousand  of  them.  They 
raised  vast  herds  of  cattle,  estimated  from  eighty  to 
one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand,  and  twenty 
thousand  horses  and  forty  thousand  sheep  were 
numbered  in  their  possessions  at  the  height  of  their 
prosperity.  Allowing  for  probable  exaggeration, 
the  wealth  of  the  mission  was  undoubtedly  great, 
reaching  two  million  dollars  in  1 842.  Shortly  after, 
this  was  confiscated  by  the  Mexican  Government 
and  the  ensuing  war  with  the  United  States  marked 
the  end  of  San  Gabriel's  prosperity. 

When  the  town  of  Los  Angeles  was  founded 
during  the  palmy  days  of  the  mission,  a  chapel  w^as 
built  there  by  the  fathers  and  it  stands  to-day,  time- 
stained  and  demurely  unpretentious,  in  the  midst 
of  the  bustling  metropolis  that  has  grown  up  around 
it. 

But  San  Gabriel  to-day  has  an  added  interest 

66 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

— the  result  of  one  of  the  happy  inspirations  which 
come  periodically  to  Frank  Miller  of  Riverside — in 
the  Mission  Play  first  given  in  the  winter  of  1910. 
It  occurred  to  this  loyal  Californian  that  the  ro- 
mantic zeal  and  self-sacrifice  that  led  to  the  founda- 
tion of  the  missions  and  the  wealth  of  historic  inci- 
dent connected  with  their  active  career  w^ould 
furnish  splendid  material  for  a  play — or,  more 
properly,  a  pageant.  The  idea  was  presented  to  Mr. 
John  S.  McGroarty  of  Los  Angeles,  editor  of  the 
Pacific  Coast  Magazine,  who  combined  the  neces- 
sary qualities  of  historian  and  poet.  He  entered 
zealously  into  the  plan  and  in  due  time  the  libretto 
w^as  w^ritten.  A  playhouse  was  built — somewhat 
crude  and  cheaply  constructed,  it  is  true — directly 
opposite  the  old  mission.  It  was  not,  however,  in- 
harmonious with  the  idea  and  spirit  of  the  play  and 
was  surrounded  by  an  open-air  corridor  or  ambula- 
tory containing  small  models  of  the  twenty-one 
missions  as  they  appeared  in  their  most  prosperous 
days.  The  actors  were  mostly  local  people  who, 
during  the  performance,  lived  in  the  cottages  of  the 
village  or  near-by  tow^ns. 

The  play — or  pageant — has  but  little  plot,  de- 
pending on  scenic  effect,  rich  in  life  and  color,  and 
on  a  wealth  of  interesting  incident.  We  saw  it  dur- 
ing the  first  week  of  its  performance  and  our  only 
disappointment  was  the  clearly  inappropriate  end- 
ing— ^but  evidently  the  writer  recognized  this  de- 
fect, for  when  we  visited  the  play  next  season,  the 
last  act  had  been  rewritten  more  in  harmony  with 
the  spirit  of  the  subject. 

Before  the  play  begins  you  are  at  liberty  to 

67 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

saunter  about  the  ambulatory  to  gain  some  idea  of 
the  subject  with  which  it  is  to  deal;  the  clang  of  a 
mission  bell  hanging  over  the  stage  will  call  you  to 
your  seat  when  the  performance  commences. 
Three  figures  pass  like  shadows  in  front  of  the 
darkened  curtain  before  it  rises — a  crouching,  fear- 
ful Indian,  a  fully  accoutered  and  gaudily  dressed 
soldier,  representing  the  Spanish  conquistador,  and, 
lastly,  the  brown-robed  priest  bearing  his  crucifix 
— symbols  of  the  three  human  elements  w^ith  which 
the  play  is  to  deal.  It  proves  more  of  an  historical 
pageant  than  a  miracle  play — but,  after  all,  what 
is  Oberammergau  but  an  historical  pageant? — 
though  it  seldom  occurs  to  us  in  that  light. 

The  curtain  rises  on  False  Bay,  San  Diego — a 
piece  of  scene-staging  that  w^ould  do  credit  to  any 
metropolitan  playhouse.  A  little  group  of  monks 
and  soldiers  sit  disconsolately  in  their  camp  in  the 
foreground;  they  are  awaiting  the  arrival  of  Por- 
tola,  their  leader,  who  has  gone  northward  to  ex- 
plore the  coast  and  whose  return  they  momentarily 
hope  for.  They  have  suffered  from  disease  and 
hunger;  hostile  Indians  have  continually  harried 
them  and  shown  no  signs  of  being  converted  to 
Christianity,  despite  the  efforts  of  the  monks.  The 
soldiers  are  quite  ready  to  re-embark  in  the  crippled 
little  San  Carlos,  lying  temptingly  in  the  harbor, 
and  to  return  to  Mexico  for  good.  Here  enters  the 
hero  of  the  play,  Father  Serra,  and  his  influence  is 
at  once  apparent,  for  complaint  ceases  and  the 
rough  soldiers  become  respectful.  He  addresses 
cheerful  words  to  the  dejected  men — speaking  like 
a  hero  and  prophet — and  to    some    extent    rouses 

68 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

their  depressed  spirits.  But  the  gloom  is  doubly 
deep  when  Portola  staggers  on  the  scene  with  the 
wretched  remnant  of  his  band  of  explorers — un- 
kempt, footsore,  starving,  many  of  them  sick  and 
wounded — and  declares  that  the  port  of  Monterey 
has  not  been  found — that  all  is  lost.  They  must 
return  to  Mexico  and  when  Father  Serra  insists  that 
if  all  go  he  will  remain  here  alone,  Portola  tells  him 
he  will  not  be  allowed  to  do  so.  They  will  compel 
him  to  board  the  ship.  The  priest  pleads  for  one 
more  day  of  grace;  he  is  to  baptize  his  first  native 
— an  Indian  child — and  this  may  be  the  turning 
point  of  their  fortunes.  In  the  midst  of  the  cere- 
mony the  savage  parents  become  terror-stricken, 
snatch  the  babe  from  Serra' s  arms  and  flee  to  their 
retreat  in  the  mountains.  The  sad  outcome  of  the 
ceremony  only  confirms  Portola  in  his  determina- 
tion to  sail  on  the  following  morning;  the  San  An- 
tonio, which  was  despatched  months  ago  for  relief 
supplies,  has  never  been  heard  of — she  must  have 
been  lost  at  sea — there  is  no  hope!  The  sooner 
they  sail  the  greater  the  chance  of  reaching  home — 
all  are  ordered  to  prepare  for  embarking.  Serra 
raises  his  hands  to  heaven  in  deep  contrition; 
it  was  his  pride  and  vain  glory,  he  laments,  over  his 
promise  of  success  that  has  been  punished — it  is 
just;  but  he  pleads  in  desperation  with  the  soldier 
not  to  turn  his  back  on  God's  work — to  wait  one 
more  day ;  God  may  yet  work  a  miracle  to  prevent 
the  overthrow  of  the  plans  to  save  the  heathen. 
His  words  fall  on  deaf  ears,  but  while  he  pleads  the 
watch  sets  up  a  joyful  cry — a  light  is  seen  rounding 

Point  Loma — the  good  ship  San  Antonio  comes — 

69 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

the  spirits  of  all  revive — the  mission  is  saved  !  It 
is  indeed  a  thrilling  and  dramatic  climax;  the  ship 
glides  into  the  harbor  in  a  truly  realistic  manner 
and  the  denouement  is  creditable  alike  to  author  and 
stage  director. 

The  second  act  pictures  the  court  of  San  Car- 
los at  Monterey  fourteen  years  later.  It  is  rich  with 
the  semi-tropical  splendor  of  that  favored  spot; 
green  trees,  waving  palms,  and  flowers  lend  color 
and  cheeriness  to  the  gray  cloisters  through  which 
the  brown-robed  figures  march  with  solemn  de- 
corum. It  is  the  great  day  when  all  the  mission 
fathers — nine  in  number  at  that  time — have  as- 
sembled at  Monterey  to  make  report  of  progress  of 
their  respective  stations  to  the  president,  the  be- 
loved Junipero.  He  has  aged  since  w^e  saw  him 
last;  hardships  and  w^ounds  have  left  their  furrow^s 
on  his  face,  but  it  still  glows  with  the  old-time  zeal. 
His  strength  of  character  comes  out  in  one  of  the 
opening  incidents — the  military  captain  of  the  pre- 
sidio comes  to  carry  off  a  beautiful  half-breed  girl 
to  whom  he  has  taken  a  fancy,  but  the  soldier's 
arrogance  speedily  fades  before  the  stern  rebuke  of 
Father  Serra,  his  sword  is  w^rested  from  him  by  the 
athletic  young  "fighting  parson"  of  San  Luis 
Obispo,  and  he  is  ignominiously  ejected  from  the 
mission. 

In  the  second  act  it  seems  to  me  that  the  in- 
fluence of  Oberammergau  can  be  seen  in  opulence 
of  color  and  picturesque  effects.  The  fathers  gather 
about  a  long  table  and  Serra  listens  with  pious  ap- 
probation to  the  optimistic  reports  of  his  subordi- 
nates.    As  an  example  of  the  fervent  and  self-sacri- 

70 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

ficing  spirit  of  the  aged  president,  as  illustrated  by 
the  play,  we  may  quote  from  Serra's  address  on  this 
memorable  occasion : 

"Francisco,  my  beloved  brother,  and  you,  my 
brethren,  all  bear  me  witness  that  I  have  never 
sought  for  world  honor ;  I  have  asked  only  to  serve 
God  in  the  w^ilderness,  laboring  to  bring  the  light 
of  Christ  to  the  heathen.  I  would  gladly  be  forgot- 
ten when  I  lie  down  with  death  in  this  poor  robe  of 
our  Franciscan  brotherhood,  my  hands  empty,  and 
rich  only  in  the  love  of  God  and  my  fellow-man. 
But  oh,  California  is  dear  to  me!  It  is  the  country 
of  my  heart.  It  w^ere  sweet  to  be  remembered  here 
by  the  peoples  which  shall  some  day  crowd  these 
golden  shores  and  possess  these  sweet  valleys  and 
shining  hills  that  I  have  loved  so  w^ell.  My  feet 
have  wandered  every  mile  of  the  way  between  the 
great  harbor  of  St.  Francis  and  San  Diego's  Harbor 
of  the  Sun  so  many,  many  times!  and  on  this,  my 
last  journey  which  I  have  just  taken,  I  stopped  often 
amid  the  oaks  and  cypress,  kissing  the  ground  in 
loving  farewell.  I  have  looked  down  from  the  hill- 
tops and  embraced  in  my  soul  every  vale  carpeted 
with  poppies  and  aflame  with  wild  flowers  as  the 
mocking  bird  and  the  linnet  sang  to  me  on  the  way. 
To  be  remembered  in  California — ah,  God  grant 
that  I  shall  not  be  forgotten  in  this  dear  and  lovely 
land." 

After  this  the  pageantry  begins — there  is  a 
church  procession  and  the  fathers  with  approving 
interest  inspect  the  examples  of  handiwork  proudly 
exhibited  by  the  Indian  pupils  of  San  Carlos.  The 
festivities  begin;   the  spectators    and    performers, 

71 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

some  scores  in  all,  are  artistically  grouped  on  the 
stage.  There  are  Indian  and  Spanish  dances  and 
the  dark,  gaudily  dressed  senoritas  who  perform  the 
latter  never  fail  of  an  encore — the  rather  high-step- 
ping hilarity  affording  a  pleasing  relief  from  the 
more  serious  and  even  somber  parts  of  the  play. 
The  young  women  have  become  adepts  in  these 
roles;  in  many  cases  they  are  of  Spanish  descent 
and  take  with  natural  aptitude  to  the  fandango  and 
castanets.  The  Indians,  as  well,  have  their  dances 
and  ceremonies — all  carefully  studied — and  1  doubt 
not  that  the  second  act  of  the  play  gives  a  fair  idea 
of  the  peaceful,  industrious,  and  yet  joyous  life  that 
prevailed  at  many  of  these  missions  in  their  halcyon 
days.  The  entertainment  wanes,  the  crowd  breaks 
up  and  melts  away,  just  as  in  real  life,  and  finally 
Father  Junipero  alone  remains  on  the  scene,  his 
features  fairly  beaming  w^ith  satisfaction  and  de- 
votion in  the  waning  light.  Finally,  overcome  by 
the  labors  and  excitement  of  the  day,  he  falls  asleep 
at  the  foot  of  the  cross  in  the  mission  court,  after 
having  offered  the  following  beautiful  and  touching 
prayer : 

"Hear,  oh  Lord,  Thy  servant  Junipero,  whose 
days  upon  the  earth  are  about  to  close,  even  as  the 
day  has  now  closed  upon  this  scene.  Bring  to  the 
foot  of  Thy  cross  these  w^ild  gentiles  of  the  plains 
and  hills.  Bless  this  dear  and  lovely  land  of  Cali- 
fornia, its  white  peaks  of  glory  and  its  sunlit  val- 
leys, where  the  wild  flowers  are  ever  blooming. 
Bless  California  now  and  in  the  centuries  to  come 
when  newer  peoples  shall  crowd  her  golden  shores. 
This  is  the  prayer,  O  Lord,  of  Junipero,  Thy  serv- 

72 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

ant,  who  is  old  and  worn  and  who  soon  must  say 
farewell.     Amen." 

The  third  scene,  as  I  have  already  intimated, 
was  rewritten  for  the  second  year  and  much  im- 
proved, though  the  staging  remained  practically 
unchanged.  In  the  first  draft  the  heroine  falls  a  vic- 
tim to  the  bullets  of  American  soldiers,  who  fire 
upon  the  helpless  Indians  coming  to  bury  their  dead 
priest  in  the  ruined  cloisters  of  San  Juan  Capis- 
trano.  She  had  spurned  the  love  advances  of 
the  captain,  who  rushes  into  the  ruin  only  to  find 
her  breathing  her  last.  All  of  w^hich  seemed  incon- 
gruous and  left  a  painful  recollection  with  the  audi- 
ence; but  on  our  second  visit  to  San  Gabriel  play- 
house w^e  were  delighted  by  a  happy  change  in  the 
ending  of  the  play. 

The  new  version  shows  the  ivy-covered  ruins 
of  Capistrano  seventy  years  later  than  the  time  of 
the  second  act.  Confiscation  by  the  Mexican  Gov- 
ernment has  ruined  the  property  of  the  missions  and 
American  occupation  still  further  hastened  their 
dissolution  and  decay.  An  old  Indian  shepherd  is 
telling  his  story  to  a  youth  and  declares  that  he  was 
the  first  Indian  child  baptized  by  the  sainted  Serra. 
He  is  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Senora  Yorba, 
a  lovely,  devout  Spanish  lady  who  grieves  over  the 
destruction  of  the  old  regime  and  comes  at  times 
to  muse  and  pray  at  the  deserted  altar,  and  in  a 
graceful  monologue  she  laments  the  downfall  of  the 
mission  and  the  cessation  of  its  beneficent  work. 
While  she  is  at  her  devotions  a  small  company  of 
wretched  Indians  enter  the  ruin,  bearing  the  dead 

body  of  the  padre,  who  ministered  to  them  in  their 

73 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

retreats  in  the  hills;  they  would  bury  him  in  the 
consecrated  ground  of  the  old  mission.  Senora 
Yorba  mourns  with  the  Indians  and  joins  them  in 
laying  the  body  to  rest.  In  the  folds  of  the  dead 
priest's  robe  she  discovers  the  golden  chalice,  richly 
bejeweled,  which  he  had  rescued  from  the  ruined 
church  and  which  the  loyal  natives — though  they 
knew  its  value — would  have  interred  with  him.  In 
the  closing  scene  of  the  play  the  Senora,  with  a  look 
of  rapt  devotion,  raises  the  golden  cup  aloft  and 
solemnly  promises  that  she  will  lay  it  on  the  altar 
of  Santa  Barbara,  the  nearest  mission  still  unfor- 
saken. 

The  curtain  falls  on  the  melancholy  scene ;  w^e 
pass  out  into  the  May-day  sunlight  and  gaze  rever- 
ently on  the  gray  old  mission  across  the  way.  The 
play  has  given  to  it  new  meaning,  just  as  Oberam- 
mergau  on  another  May  day  gave  us  a  new  concep- 
tion of  the  old  story  that  has  never  lost  its  interest 
to  humanity.  I  am  very  sure  that  there  are  few 
people  who  w^itness  either  the  famous  and  very 
ancient  play  of  the  Bavarian  peasants  or  the  very 
recent  and  less  pretentious  production  of  the  artists 
of  San  Gabriel,  vs^ho  are  not  spiritually  elevated  and 
benefited  thereby. 

Within  easy  reach  of  the  city,  either  by  trolley 
or  motor,  is  San  Fernando,  the  next  link  in  the  mis- 
sion chain  to  the  north  of  San  Gabriel.  We  made 
our  first  journey  thither  on  a  shovs^ery  April  day, 
following  a  steady  downpour  for  nearly  tw^enty- 
four  hours.  The  country  was  at  its  best,  as  it  al- 
ways is  in  California  after  a  spring  rain.  We  edged 
our  way  out  of  the  city,  along  the  wide  sweep  of 

74 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

Sunset  Boulevard  to  Los  Feliz  Avenue,  which  soon 
brought  us  into  the  San  Fernando  road  at  Glendale. 
From  here  a  straight-away  dash  of  twenty  miles  to 
the  northwest  takes  one  to  the  mission — one  of  the 
easiest  and  most  delightful  runs  in  the  vicinity  of 
Los  Angeles. 

It  was  a  brilliant  day,  despite  a  dark  cloud- 
curtain  whose  fringes  hovered  over  the  peaks  of  the 
rugged  mountains  in  the  north  toward  which  we 
were  rapidly  coursing.  We  swept  along  the  narrow 
valley — then  a  desert,  cactus-studded  plain — reach- 
ing on  our  left  to  low,  green  hills  which  stood  in 
sharp  outline  against  the  deep  azure  of  the  sky.  On 
the  right,  closer  at  hand,  were  low  foothills,  domi- 
nated by  the  distant  mountains — their  summits 
w^hite  with  snow  and  touched  in  places  by  clouds  of 
dazzling  brilliance.  Directly  in  front  of  us  we  saw 
the  glistening  phalanx  of  a  summer  shower,  which 
rapidly  advanced  to  meet  us,  giving  us  barely  time 
to  raise  our  cape  top  before  it  w^as  upon  us.  Such 
a  rain  in  our  home  state  would  have  meant  liquid 
roads  and  constant  danger,  but  on  this  perfect  high- 
way it  only  heightened  our  enjoyment  as  our  stead- 
ily purring  engine  carried  us  along  the  smooth  wet 
surface.  The  green  hills  to  the  left  and  the  cloud- 
less sky  above  them  seemed  doubly  glorious 
through  the  crystal  curtain  of  the  falling  raindrops. 

By  the  time  we  reached  the  village  of  San 
Fernando,  the  rain  had  ceased  and  we  paused  to  in- 
quire the  whereabouts  of  the  mission.  We  saw 
about  us  at  the  time  a  straggling,  unsubstantial- 
looking  hamlet  which  bore  little  resemblance  to  the 

smart,  well-improved  town  that  greeted  us  a  year 

75 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

later — but  so  it  often  is  in  California.  Then  a  new 
double  boulevard  with  a  parked  center  stretched 
away  to  the  southeast — the  work  of  an  enterprising 
land  company — with  the  inviting  sign,  "Speed  limit 
one  hundred  miles  per  hour,"  but  we  were  content 
w^ith  a  fraction  of  this  generous  figure.  The  mission 
is  about  a  mile  out  of  the  town  and  is  best  ap- 
proached by  the  new  boulevard,  since  this  gives  the 
advantage  of  a  little  distance  for  the  front  view, 
which  the  public  road,  directly  passing,  does  not 
allow^.  Before  you  see  the  building  itself  you  w^ill 
note  the  two  giant  palms,  over  a  century  old,  and 
perhaps  a  hundred  feet  high — all  that  remain  of  the 
many  planted  by  the  monks. 

The  structure  is  long,  low,  solid-looking — 
utterly  devoid  of  artistic  touches  save  the  graceful, 
rounded  arches  of  the  long  "portello"  and  the 
simple  grille-work  of  wrought  iron  that  still  covers 
a  few  of  the  windows — work  of  the  rude  artisans 
of  a  hundred  years  ago.  The  old  tile  roof  is  the 
glory  of  San  Fernando ;  the  huge,  semicircular  tiles 
are  time-stained  to  a  color  combination  to  delight 
the  eye  of  an  artist.  Moss  greens,  silver  grays,  dull 
reds,  and  soft  browns  predominate,  blending  to- 
gether in  a  most  pleasing  manner.  Back  from  the 
mission  extends  a  row  of  old-time  living  apart- 
ments, now  little  more  than  shapeless  heaps  of 
adobe,  while  the  huge  church,  a  little  farther  to  the 
rear,  seems  approaching  the  final  stages  of  dissolu- 
tion. It  was  once  a  massive  structure,  built  as  well 
as  loving  care  and  endless  industry  could  do — w^alls 
five  or  six  feet  in  thickness,  bound  together  at  the 
top  by  heavy  beams  perhaps  fifteen  inches  square. 

76 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

Traces  of  the  ancient  decorations  appear,  though 
they  are  nearly  effaced  by  the  weather,  to  which 
they  have  been  long  exposed.  Apparently  the 
earthquake  began  the  work  of  ruin  and  long  neglect 
has  done  the  rest. 

One  enters  the  church  with  some  trepidation, 
for  it  seems  as  if  the  cracked  and  crazy  structure 
may  stagger  to  shapeless  ruin  at  any  moment. 
What  a  pity  that  the  material  of  California's  mis- 
sions was  not  enduring  stone,  like  the  English 
abbeys,  rather  than  the  quickly  disintegrating 
adobe !  Back  of  the  church  is  a  pathetic  little  bury- 
ing ground  where  wooden  crosses  and  simple 
memorials  indicate  that  the  present  parishioners  of 
San  Fernando  are  the  poorest  of  the  poor, — prob- 
ably a  few  wretched  Mexican  families  such  as  the 
one  we  found  in  charge  of  the  mission. 

I  have  anticipated,  perhaps,  in  describing  the 
church  before  the  mission  itself,  but,  after  all,  the 
church  is  a  part  of  the  exterior  w^ith  which  I  have 
been  dealing.  On  our  first  visit  we  found  a  Mexi- 
can family  living  in  two  or  three  of  the  damp, 
cavernous  rooms  of  the  old  building.  They  could 
speak  but  little  English,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
visitors  were  welcome,  and  gratuities  no  doubt  af- 
forded their  means  of  livelihood.  When  we  re- 
turned a  year  later,  another  family  was  in  posses- 
sion and  had  reduced  sightseeing  to  a  business  basis. 
We  were  required  to  pay  "two  bits"  entrance  fee 
and  an  extra  charge  was  assessed  for  a  peep  into  the 
ruinous  church,  all  doors  and  rents  in  the  wall  hav- 
ing been  religiously  boarded  up.  Each  member  of 
our  party  was  given  a  lighted  lantern — a  wise  pre- 

77 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

caution,  it  proved,  for  there  were  dilapidated  and 
broken  stairways  and  unsound  floors  in  the  dimly 
lighted  building.  There  was  little  enough  to  see; 
only  a  series  of  prison-like  cells  with  tiny  windows 
piercing  the  massive  walls,  with  earthen  floors,  and 
rude  beamed  ceilings — surely  life  at  best  was  hard 
and  comfortless  at  San  Fernando,  and  the  fathers 
had  little  advantage  over  their  Indian  charges. 
There  was  one  large  room,  apparently  for  assembly 
purposes,  on  the  second  floor.  Our  Mexican  guide 
grinned  gleefully  as  he  pointed  out  a  little  conduit 
in  the  wall  through  which  wine  flowed  from  the 
presses  to  vats  in  the  ample  cellars;  evidently  the 
fathers  made  a  plentiful  supply  of  the  genial  liquor 
to  counteract  the  hardships  they  must  have  en- 
dured. 

One  need  explore  but  a  corner  of  the  mission ; 
he  will  find  it  typical  of  the  whole  huge  structure, 
perhaps  two  hundred  feet  in  length.  There  is  a 
pathetic  little  chapel — the  altar  covered  w^ith  tinsel 
and  gewgaws — w^here  services  are  held  at  long 
intervals.  As  a  whole,  the  building  is  in  fair  con- 
dition and  a  little  intelligent  repair  and  restoration 
w^ould  insure  its  preservation  for  many  years  to 
come.  It  is,  in  some  respects,  one  of  the  most  typi- 
cal of  the  missions ;  except  for  decay,  which  has  not 
impaired  the  structure  or  interior  arrangement  to 
any  great  extent,  it  stands  to-day  much  as  it  did  one 
hundred  years  ago  and  gives  an  excellent  idea  of 
the  domestic  life  of  the  padres  and  their  converts. 
A  narrow  stairway  led  to  a  platform  on  the  roof 
and  coming  out  of  the  dimly  lighted  interior  into 
the  broad  sunlight — for  the  rain  had  ceased — we 

78 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

were  struck  with  the  remarkable  beauty  of  the  situ- 
ation. 

The  mission  stands  in  the  center  of  the  wide 
plain  at  the  head  of  the  valley,  around  which  sweeps 
a  circle  of  green  hills  and  mountains,  their  rounded 
tops  and  rugged  peaks  lending  infinite  variety  to 
the  skyline.  On  one  hand  blue  vapors  softened  the 
snowy  summits;  on  the  other,  the  sky  bent  down, 
crystal  clear,  to  the  gently  undulating  contour  of 
the  hills.  The  fertile  plain  was  being  rapidly 
brought  under  cultivation — dotted  with  fruit-tree 
groves  and  ranch-houses,  with  here  and  there  a  vil- 
lage— and  this  was  before  the  coming  of  the  waters 
of  the  great  Owens  River  Aqueduct.  It  would  take 
a  bold  flight  of  the  imagination  to  picture  the  future 
of  the  San  Fernando  Valley — anything  I  might 
w^rite  would  be  ancient  history  before  my  book 
could  get  to  the  press.  The  whole  plain  will  become 
a  garden  of  wondrous  beauty;  only  the  mountains 
and  hills  will  abide  unchanged. 

The  history  of  the  old  mission  w^hich  has  been 
engaging  our  attention  w^as  not  important  as  com- 
pared with  many  of  its  contemporaries.  And, 
speaking  of  history,  1  have  been  wondering  whether 
I  should  burden  my  pages  with  dates  and  incidents 
concerning  these  ancient  memorials,  but  perhaps 
a  short  sketch,  given  in  as  few  words  as  may  tell 
the  bare  outlines  of  each  mission  as  we  visit  it,  will 
be  of  service  to  pilgrims  who  follow  us. 

San  Fernando  was  seventeenth  of  the  Cali- 
fornia missions  in  order  of  founding,  and  was  con- 
sidered a  necessity  by  the  padres  to  fill  in  the  gap 
between  San  Gabriel  and    Ventura,    being    about 

79 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

thirty  miles  from  either.  Padre  Lasuen  performed 
the  dedicatory  ceremonies  on  September  8,  1  797, 
and  by  the  end  of  the  year,  fifty-five  neophytes  had 
been  enlisted.  These,  in  three  years,  had  increased 
to  three  hundred,  and  the  record  reads  that  they 
possessed  five  hundred  horses  and  about  as  many 
sheep,  and  harvested  a  crop  of  one  thousand  bushels 
of  grain.  The  first  church,  built  in  1802,  was  al- 
most destroyed  by  the  great  quake  of  1812,  which 
left  its  impress  on  nearly  every  mission  of  the  entire 
chain.  The  church  was  repaired  and  its  shattered 
remnants  are  w^hat  w^e  see  to-day. 

San  Fernando  never  prospered  greatly,  though 
at  one  time  there  w^ere  nearly  a  thousand  Indians  on 
its  rolls.  It  was  cramped  for  want  of  productive 
land  and  its  decline  began  many  years  before  the 
act  of  confiscation  by  the  Mexicans.  This  occurred 
in  1834,  when  the  Government  agent  computed 
the  wealth  of  the  mission  at  around  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  of  which  the  "liquors'* 
represented  more  than  seven  thousand.  In  January, 
1847,  General  John  C.  Fremont  took  possession  of 
the  scanty  remains  of  the  property  and  the  active 
history  of  San  Fernando  was  ended.  Mr.  George 
Wharton  James,  to  whose  interesting  book,  'The 
Old  Missions  of  California,"  I  am  indebted  for 
much  of  the  foregoing  information,  tells  of  an  im- 
portant incident  in  San  Fernando's  history  as  fol- 
low^s : 

"Connected  with  the  mission  of  San  Fernando 
is  the  first  discovery  of  California  gold.  Eight  years 
before  the  great  days  of  '49,  Francisco  Lopez,  the 
major-domo  of  the  mission,  was  in  the  canyon  of 

80 


ROUND  ABOUT  LOS  ANGELES 

San  Feliciano,  which  is  about  eight  miles  westerly 
from  the  present  town  of  Newhall,  and,  according 
to  Don  Abul  Stearns,  'with  a  companion  while  in 
search  of  some  stray  horses  about  midday  stopped 
under  some  trees  and  tied  their  horses  to  feed. 
While  visiting  in  the  shade,  Lopez  with  a  sheath 
knife  dug  up  some  wild  onions,  and  in  the  dirt  dis- 
covered a  piece  of  gold.  Searching  further  he  found 
more.  On  his  return  to  town  he  showed  these 
pieces  to  his  friends,  who  at  once  declared  there 
must  be  a  placer  of  gold  there.* 

"Then  the  rush  began.  As  soon  as  the  people 
in  Los  Angeles  and  Santa  Barbara  heard  of  it  they 
flocked  to  the  new^  gold  fields*  in  hundreds.  And 
the  first  California  gold  dust  ever  coined  at  the  gov- 
ernment at  Philadelphia  came  from  these  mines.  It 
was  taken  around  Cape  Horn  on  a  sailing  vessel  by 
Alfred  Robinson,  the  translator  of  Boscana's 
'Indians  of  California,*  and  consisted  of  18.34 
ounces,  and  made  $344.75,  or  over  nineteen  dollars 
to  the  ounce. 

"Davis  says  that  in  the  first  two  years  after  the 
discovery  not  less  than  from  $80,000  to  $100,000 
was  gathered.  Don  Antonio  Coronel,  with  three 
Indian  laborers,  in  1842  took  out  $600  worth  of 
dust  in  two  months.** 

No  doubt  this  discovery  and  others  which  fol- 
lowed had  a  far-reaching  effect  on  the  destinies  of 
California.  The  influx  of  Americans  who  were  at- 
tracted by  the  love  of  gold  was  beyond  question  a 
strong  factor  in  bringing  about  the  annexation  of 
the  state  to  the  American  Union  by  the  treaty  of 
1849. 

81 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

There  may  be  a  more  delightful  drive  in  the 
world  than  the  sixty  miles  between  Los  Angeles 
and  the  Riverside  country  following  Foothill  Boule- 
vard on  an  ideal  California  April  day,  but  it  would 
take  an  ocular  demonstration  to  make  us  believe  it ! 
On  such  a  day  w^e  made  our  first  run  over  this  road 
and  perhaps  the  peculiarly  favorable  conditions  for 
first  impressions  may  have  unduly  prejudiced  us, 
though  many  subsequent  trips  never  dispelled  the 
charm. 

Leaving  the  city  by  the  Broadway  Tunnel  and 
pursuing  the  broad  curves  of  Pasadena  Avenue  to 
Orange  Grove — which  we  could  never  traverse  too 
often — we  turned  into  the  long  stretch  of  Colorado 
Street,  which  leads  directly  into  the  broad  oak- 
bordered  Foothill  Boulevard.  Here  we  came  into 
the  first  open  country,  some  dozen  miles  from  the 
center  of  Los  Angeles,  and  until  we  reached  the  out- 
posts of  Monrovia,  we  ran  between  the  sylvan 
glades  of  the  Baldwin  Oaks.  To  the  left  rose  the 
rugged  bulk  of  Mount  Wilson,  and  peak  after  peak 
stretched  away  before  us  to  the  white  summit  of 
Old  Baldy — as  Mount  San  Antonio  is  popularly 
known — which  rises  to  an  altitude  of  more  than 
ten  thousand  feet.  It  was  a  mottled  spring  day, 
rich  in  gorgeous  cloud  effects  such  as  are  not  com- 
mon in  California ;  blue-gray  cumulus  clouds  rolled 

82 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

above  the  mountains,  occasionally  obscuring  Old 
Baldy's  white  pate  and  showing  many  entrancmg 
phases  of  light  and  color.  Beneath,  a  blue  haze 
stole  softly  down  the  slopes  to  the  tender  green  of 
the  foothills.  The  sky  above  was  peculiarly  beauti- 
ful—pearl gray,  deep  blue  and  snowy  white,  all 
shading  into  each  other,  with  lucent  patches  of  pale 
blue  breaking  through  here  and  there. 

We  paused  at  the  Seven  Oaks  Inn  in  Monrovia 
and  were  delighted  with  its  artistic  "atmosphere 
and  cleanly,  appetizing  service.     It  is  modeled  on 
the  higher-class  English  country  inn— just  a  hint 
of  the  Lygon  Arms  at  Broadway  or  the  Red  Horse 
at  Stratford.     Its  main  room  had  an  immense  fire- 
place with  many  cozy  chairs,  a  most  inviting  place 
to  spend  a  dull  evening,  and  its  windows  looked 
out  on  pleasant  gardens  whose  shady  nooks  had 
an  equally  strong  lure  for  the  daytime.     We  only 
regretted  that  our  plans  did  not  admit  of  a  longer 
acquaintance  with  the  attractive  Seven  Oaks. 

We  glided  slowly  through  the  broad,  shady 
streets  of  the  trim  little  town  and  just  as  we  left 
it  we  turned  a  corner  at  an  ivy-covered  stone  church 
that  awakened  recollections  of  England     Then  we 
were  away  again  on  the  long  stretches  of  *e  boule- 
vard, which  here  for  a  few  miles  runs  through  desert 
country-Jesert  indeed,   but  no  doubt  qmte  the 
same  as  that  now  covered  by  the  orange  groves 
about  Azusa  must  have  have  been  a  few  years  ago^ 
Out  of  Azusa  for  miles  and  miles  the  orange  and 
lemon   groves  crowded  up  to  the  roadside,   their 
golden  globes  glowing  through  the  green  sheen  of 
fhe  leaves.    The  air  was  heavy  with  the  perfume  of 

o  o 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

the  blossoms,  which  lent  an  added  charm  to  the 
sensuous  beauty  of  the  day  and  scene. 

At  Claremont  we  left  Los  Angeles  County  and 
at  the  time  of  our  first  trip  the  road  w^as  rough  and 
inferior  from  that  point,  though  plans  for  its  im- 
provement w^ere  already  made  and  may  be  com- 
pleted by  this  time.  But  the  orange  groves  contin- 
ued, alternating  w^ith  huge  vineyards  which  were 
just  beginning  to  send  forth  green  shoots.  Near 
Upland  we  passed  one  of  more  than  four  thousand 
acres,  said  to  be  the  largest  single  vineyard  in  the 
world,  and  near  it  w^as  a  huge  concrete  w^inery.  A 
vineyard  in  this  country  in  springtime  presents  a 
strange  sight  to  a  newcomer — a  stretch  of  sand 
studded  with  row^s  of  scraggly  stumps  tw^o  or  three 
feet  high — for  the  vines  are  cut  back  to  the  stump 
after  the  bearing  season.  Few  of  the  vineyards  are 
irrigated  and  one  marvels  that  nature  can  produce 
the  luscious  clusters  from  the  arid  sands. 

And  here  I  may  pause  to  remark  upon  the 
peculiar  and  unexpected  result  of  national  prohibi- 
tion upon  the  California  grape  growers.  For  years 
the  threat  of  state  prohibition  had  been  their  bug- 
bear and  it  w^as  uniformly  defeated  in  their  interests 
whenever  the  issue  came  before  the  people  of  the 
state.  When  they  were  finally  overwhelmed  in  the 
tide  of  National  Prohibition  originating  in  the  war, 
they  resigned  themselves  as  lost  and  a  few  vine- 
yards were  pulled  up  to  replant  the  ground  in  fruit 
trees.  But,  strange  to  say,  while  the  wails  of  dis- 
tress were  still  sounding,  there  came  a  sudden  and 
unexpected  demand  for  dried  grapes  of  any  kind  or 

quality — even  those  which,  before  the  war,  would 

84 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

have  been  thrown  away  as  spoiled  sold  for  more 
than  the  top  quality  did  in  old  times.  Unprece- 
dented prosperity  settled  down  upon  the  vineyard 
men  and  I  am  told  that  at  this  time  ( 1  92 1  )  grapes 
are  selling  for  from  two  to  three  times  as  much 
per  ton  as  they  brought  from  the  wineries  in  pre- 
war days.  New  vineyards  are  now  being  planted  in 
many  sections  of  the  state. 

Just  before  we  came  to  San  Bernardino  we 
passed  the  Fontana  Orchards,  a  tract  of  seventeen 
thousand  acres  of  young  citrus  trees  recently  plant- 
ed by  an  improvement  company.  Rows  of  newly 
planted  rose  bushes  and  palm  trees  on  either  hand 
will,  in  a  few  years,  add  still  further  to  the  charm 
of  the  boulevard — another  instance  of  the  deter- 
mination everywhere  present  in  California  to  beau- 
tify as  well  as  improve. 

On  our  first  trip  to  San  Bernardino  we  stopped, 
for  personal  reasons,  at  the  comfortable  Stuart 
Hotel,  though  the  majority  of  motorists  will  prob- 
ably wend  their  way  to  Riverside's  Mission  Inn. 
San  Bernardino  is  a  lively  town  of  nearly  twenty 
thousand  people  and  has  gained  fame  as  a  pros- 
perous railroad  and  jobbing  center.  Its  name  is 
pretty  much  of  a  mouthful  and  the  traveling  fra- 
ternity generally  has  abbreviated  it  to  San  Berdoo 
— a  liberty  which  gives  offense  to  every  loyal  San 
Bernardinian,  and  I  saw  a  card  posted  in  public 
places  with  the  legend,  "Please  call  it  San  Bernar- 
dino; it  won't  hurt  you  and  it  pleases  us." 

No  matter  what  you  call  it,  San  Bernardino  is 
a  lively  place  and  has  a  good  deal  to  interest  the 
wayfarer  if  he  can  find  some  kindly  disposed  native 


85 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

to  point  it  out.  The  town  is  well-built,  with  numer- 
ous handsome  public  buildings.  It  has  a  remark- 
able number  of  hotels  for  its  size — but  I  might  add 
here  that  one  never  knows  the  size  of  a  California 
town;  before  the  census  figures  can  be  compiled 
they  are  often  ancient  history.  The  water  supply 
of  the  town  comes  from  artesian  wells  and  is  prac- 
tically unlimited.  There  are  many  fine  drives  in 
the  vicinity,  though  the  county  had  as  yet  done 
little  in  the  way  of  permanent  roads.  Since  our 
first  visit,  however,  a  bond  issue  of  two  million 
dollars  has  made  possible  an  excellent  county  road 
system.  I  recall  my  record  "coast"  over  the  fine 
stretch  leading  dow^n  from  Mill  Creek  Canyon  to- 
wards Redlands,  w^here,  w^ith  engine  dead,  our 
odometer  showed  a  distance  of  seven  and  one-half 
miles  before  w^e  came  to  a  standstill. 

One  of  our  drives  took  us  to  the  oldest  orange 
grove  in  the  section.  The  trees  are  fifty  years  old 
and  a  foot  in  diameter;  they  are  hale  and  strong, 
bearing  profusely.  No  one,  as  yet,  can  say  how 
long  a  California  orange  tree  may  live.  Near  this 
grove  a  few  shapeless  heaps  of  adobe  may  be  seen, 
remains  of  the  branch  founded  here  by  padres  from 
San  Gabriel  shortly  after  the  establishment  of  that 
mission.  The  country  about  the  town  is  beautiful 
and  productive — a  wide,  level  plain  encircled  by 
mountains,  some  of  which  are  usually  snow-capped 
except  in  midsummer.  Near  the  town  is  Arrow- 
head Mountain — so  called  because  of  the  strange 
outline  of  a  great  arrowhead  upon  the  side  next  the 
valley.  Formerly  it  was  quite  plain,  though  a  re- 
cent forest  fire  to  some  extent  obliterated  the  sharp 

86 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

definition  of  the  outlines.  Just  beneath  the  point 
of  the  arrow  is  the  famous  spring,  the  hottest 
known,  with  a  temperature  of  one  hundred  and 
ninety-six  degrees,  and  a  large,  well-appointed  re- 
sort hotel  formerly  offered  comfortable  quarters  to 
visitors  throughout  the  year.  Since  the  war,  how- 
ever, the  Government  has  leased  the  Arrowhead 
Hotel  as  a  sanitarium  for  disabled  war  veterans, 
especially  those  who  suffer  from  nervous  disorders, 
and  from  our  knowledge  gained  by  a  month's  so- 
journ at  this  pleasant  inn,  we  would  declare  it  ideal 
for  this  w^orthy  purpose. 

Arrowhead  Mountain  is  about  four  thousand 
feet  high  and  it  is  said  that  the  temperature  at  the 
summit  averages  tw^enty  degrees  cooler  than  in  the 
valley.  It  is  not  strange  that  it  is  a  popular  resort, 
and  a  well-engineered  road  leads  up  its  slopes.  The 
grades  are  fairly  heavy — up  to  fifteen  per  cent; 
there  are  many  "hairpin"  curves  and  the  road  often 
runs  along  precipitous  declivities.  It  is,  however, 
nearly  everywhere  wide  enough  for  vehicles  to  pass 
and  presents  no  difficulties  to  a  careful  driver. 

For  some  distance  after  leaving  the  hot  springs 
we  followed  a  clear  mountain  stream  through  a 
wooded  canyon.  From  this  we  emerged  into  the 
open,  ascending  the  mountain  slopes  in  sharp  up- 
ward zig-zags.  We  had  many  magnificent  views 
of  the  wide  plain  beneath,  with  its  orange  groves, 
ranch-houses,  towns  and  villages,  intersected  by  the 
sinuous  white  line  of  the  river  washes.  Frequently 
there  was  scarce  a  shrub  between  the  road  and  a 
sheer  precipice — a  downward  glance  gave  some  of 

our  passengers  a  squeamish  feeling,  w^hich,  after 

87 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

all,  was  purely  a  psychological  phenomenon,  for 
with  ordinary  care  the  ascent  is  as  safe  as  a  drive 
on  a  boulevard.  The  day  was  warm  and  the  engine 
sizzled  a  good  deal,  but,  fortunately,  there  are 
means  of  replenishing  the  water  at  frequent  inter- 
vals. Near  the  summit  there  was  much  fine  forest, 
though  some  of  it  was  badly  injured  by  the  big 
fire  of  1910. 

A  winding  drive  along  the  crest  for  a  mile  or 
two  brought  us  to  Squirrel  Inn — a  rustic  lodge 
named  from  Frank  Stockton's  story — the  property 
of  a  San  Bernardino  club.  Through  the  courtesy  of 
a  friend  we  had  luncheon  here  and  admired  the  fine 
situation  at  our  leisure.  The  lodge,  built  of  logs 
and  stones,  is  surrounded  by  pines  and  firs,  and  near 
it  are  vantage  points  for  wide  views  over  the  valley. 
Among  the  mementos  of  the  inn  is  an  autograph 
letter  from  Mr.  Stockton,  expressing  his  appreci- 
ation of  the  compliment  offered  in  the  name.  In 
the  vicinity  are  a  number  of  cottages  which  are  in 
great  demand  by  local  people  during  the  heated  sea- 
son, for  the  summer  is  hot  in  the  valley,  sometimes 
reaching  one  hundred  or  even  one  hundred  and  ten 
degrees  in  the  daytime,  though  invariably  cool 
nights  greatly  relieve  the  situation. 

The  Arrowhead  Road,  w^hich  Californians  are 
fond  of  designating  as  "The  Rim  of  the  World 
Drive"  continues  from  Squirrel  Inn  to  Big  Bear 
Lake,  a  distance  of  about  twenty  miles.  It  winds 
through  magnificent  pines,  w^hich  fortunately 
escaped  the  conflagation,  and  just  beyond  Straw- 
berry Flats  a  detour  of  a  few  miles  takes  us  to 
Arrowhead  Lake,  an  artificial  reservoir  about  a  mile 

88 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

in  diameter,  surrounded  by  pines  which  crowd  al- 
most to  the  water's  edge.  The  road  winds  through 
these  around  the  pretty  Uttle  lake,  which  gives  slight 
hint  of  its  artificiality.  It  is  famous  for  its  trout  and 
being  some  twelve  hundred  feet  lower  than  Big 
Bear,  is  usually  accessible  much  earlier  in  the  sea- 
son. Returning  to  the  main  road,  we  pursue  our 
way  along  the  mountain  crests,  soon  crossing 
Strawberry  Peak,  the  hoary  patriarch  of  the  range. 
We  pass  out  of  the  pine  forest  into  a  denuded  sec- 
tion where  the  ravages  of  the  axe  are  sadly  apparent, 
with  every  evidence  of  the  wanton  waste  that  de- 
stroys with  no  thought  of  the  future.  At  Green 
Valley  the  road  begins  to  rise  rapidly  and  passes 
some  of  the  finest  scenery  of  the  trip.  There  are 
points  where  one's  vision  reaches  over  the  orange- 
grove  studded  plain  to  the  ocean,  a  hundred  miles 
away,  or  turning  eastward  sweeps  over  the  dun 
stretches  of  the  Mohave  Desert. 

Coming  in  sight  of  the  lake,  we  realize  that 
though  in  common  parlance  it  is  only  a  dam,  it  is 
none  the  less  a  beautiful  and  very  respectable  body 
of  water.  In  contemplating  its  rugged  natural  sur- 
roundings and  the  splendid  groves  of  pines  that  line 
its  shores,  we  quite  forget  that  it  is  man-made;  it 
seems  almost  as  much  a  child  of  the  ages  as  Klam- 
ath or  Tahoe.  It  is  six  or  seven  miles  long,  with 
an  average  width  of  almost  a  mile  and  in  places  it 
attains  considerable  depth.  It  is  usually  snowbound 
from  December  to  May,  though  of  course  this  varies 
considerably.  The  road  executes  a  sharp  turn 
around  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  lake  and  just 
beyond  the  bend  are  located  the  various  camps  and 

89 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

cabins  that  furnish  quarters  for  the  tourists,  vaca- 
tionists and  fishermen  who  visit  Bear  Lake  in  great 
force  during  the  summer  season.  There  are  also 
numerous  privately  owned  summer  cottages,  be- 
longing principally  to  Los  Angeles  business  men. 
The  lake  is  w^ell  stocked  with  fish  and  record 
catches  are  often  reported  early  in  the  season. 

The  return  trip  of  the  "Rim  of  the  World 
Drive"  is  made  by  the  way  of  Santa  Ana  and  Mill 
Creek  Canyons  over  a  road  which  has  been  greatly 
improved  in  the  last  few  years  but  which  still  fur- 
nishes plenty  of  thrills  for  any  but  the  most 
seasoned  mountain  driver.  The  highest  point  at- 
tained, 7950  feet,  is  opposite  the  western  extremity 
of  the  lake  and  an  inspiring  panorama  spreads  out 
beneath  Lookout  Point,  near  the  summit  of  the 
range.  The  road  descends  rapidly  from  this  point 
in  a  series  of  "switch-backs"  which  require  extreme 
vigilance  on  part  of  the  driver.  From  Clark's 
Ranch  the  descent  is  easier,  ending  in  the  long 
smooth  stretches  of  Mill  Creek  Canyon  road.  It  was 
on  this  road,  as  mentioned  elsewhere,  that  we  made 
our  record  "coast"  of  seven  and  one-half  miles.  Big 
Bear  Valley  may  also  be  reached  from  Victorville, 
crossing  the  range  over  the  El  Cajon  Pass.  This 
road  is  open  practically  the  year  round  and  affords 
access  to  the  lake  when  the  Arrowhead  route  is 
closed  by  snow.  Stages  make  the  "Rim  of  the 
World"  trip  regularly  during  the  summer  and  if  one 
does  not  care  to  pilot  his  own  car  he  can  still  make 
the  journey  easily  and  comfortably  as  a  passenger 
in  one  of  these  vehicles. 

Riverside  is  one  of  the  Meccas  of  California 
90 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

which  every  tourist  must  visit,  and  if  he  does  not 
care  to  pay  the  price  at  the  Glenwood  Mission  Inn, 
he  is  bound  to  find  some  excuse  for  dropping  into 
this  unique  and  delightful  hotel,  just  to  say  he  has 
been  there.  One  visit  will  not  suffice  for  many 
people;  in  the  course  of  our  three  springtime  so- 
journs in  California  we  gravitated  to  Riverside  a 
dozen  times  or  more,  often  going  out  of  our  way  to 
pass  the  night  at  the  Glenwood.  On  our  first  trip 
we  followed  the  Crest  road  from  Redlands  and  en- 
joyed another  fine  view  of  the  valley  with  its  towns 
and  encircling  mountains  from  the  grade  which 
crosses  the  hills  northeast  of  Highgrove. 

Riverside  we  found  a  clean,  handsome  town 
with  wide,  well-paved  streets  bordered  with  trees, 
and  lawns  and  gardens  bright  w^ith  flowers  and 
palms.  Within  its  limits  are  one  hundred  and  sixty 
miles  of  graded  streets,  a  large  part  of  which  is 
paved  or  macadamized,  while  out  of  the  town  are 
two  of  the  most  famous  drives  in  California — Mag- 
nolia and  Victoria  Avenues.  The  former,  bordered 
with  double  row^s  of  pepper  trees — there  are  a  few 
magnolias  among  them — under  which  were  mam- 
moth rose  bushes  in  full  bloom,  was  lovely  beyond 
description.  It  passes  Sherman  Institute,  a  govern- 
ment Indian  school,  where  the  rising  generation  of 
red  men — and  ladies,  for  that  matter — are  being 
trained  in  the  ways  of  civilization.  Surely,  the  lo- 
cation and  surroundings  are  nearly  ideal,  and  the 
whole  institution  seemed  like  a  far  echo  of  mission 
days,  for  the  buildings  are  mainly  of  mission  type 

and  the  students — neophytes? — are    educated    in 

91 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

arts  and  crafts;  but  the  padres  are  supplanted  by 
Uncle  Sam's  trained  teachers. 

There  are  many  other  drives  about  the  town, 
which  is  almost  completely  surrounded  by  orange 
groves,  and  one  may  see  all  phases  of  the  orange- 
producing  industry  if  he  has  the  time  and  inclina- 
tion. The  first  naval  oranges  w^ere  developed  here 
and  the  parent  tree  still  flourishes,  hale  and  green, 
in  the  court  of  the  Mission  Inn. 

But  whatever  the  visiting  motorist  at  River- 
side may  elect  to  do,  he  will  probably  place  first  on 
his  program  the  ascent  of  Rubidoux  Mountain. 
This  is  a  rugged  hill  to  the  west  of  the  town  which 
commands  a  wide  view  of  the  surrounding  valley 
and  whose  summit  may  be  reached  by  one  of  the 
easiest  mountain  roads  in  California.  It  ascends  in 
long  loops,  following  the  edge  of  the  hill,  and  a 
separate  road  provides  for  the  descent,  thus  avoid- 
ing the  annoyance  and  danger  of  passing  on  the 
grades.  So  easy  is  the  ascent  that  a  powerful  car 
can  jog  upward  most  of  the  way  on  "high,"  though 
care  must  be  taken  in  rounding  the  frequent  loops. 

From  the  boulder-strewn  summit  the  view  of 
the  semi-tropical  valley  beneath  will  hardly  be  sur- 
passed, even  in  California.  The  dominant  note  is 
the  shimmering  bronze-green  of  the  orange  groves, 
which  surround  the  mountain  on  every  hand.  It  is 
broken  here  and  there  by  emerald-green  alfalfa 
fields  and  by  frequent  towns  and  villages.  Around 
the  valley  sw^eeps  a  wide  circle  of  snow-capped 
peaks  whose  rugged  outlines  are  softened  by  the 
blue  haze  of  distance.     Just  below  lies  Riverside, 

half  hidden  in  palms  and  pepper  trees,  with  here 

92 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

and  there  a  dash  of  color  from  the  masses  of 
flowers;  San  Bernardino  is  plain  in  the  distance, 
while  a  little  to  the  right,  Redlands  nestles  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountains.  Through  the  center  of  the 
valley  runs  the  wide  sandy  bed  of  the  Santa  Ana 
River,  with  a  gleaming  thread  of  water  coursing 
through  it. 

It  was  the  conservation  of  this  river  and  other 
mountain  streams  that  has  had  everything  to  do 
with  the  beautiful  and  prosperous  scene  beneath  us. 
It  is  indeed  difficult  to  conceive  that  fifty  years  ago 
this  green,  thriving  plain  w^as  an  arid  desert,  but 
such  has  been  the  history  of  more  than  one  prosper- 
ous locality  in  California,  and  in  the  future  many 
other  seeming  deserts  will  burst  into  bloom  under 
the  magical  touch  of  water.  Much  of  the  water  in 
the  valley  comes  from  artesian  wells  and  when 
these  began  to  fail  from  increasing  demands,  it  oc- 
curred to  some  resourceful  mind  to  divert  water 
from  the  river  during  the  flood  time  to  the  vicinity 
of  the  wells.  Sinking  into  the  earth,  it  greatly 
augmented  the  subterranean  supply  and  it  is  hoped 
in  the  future  to  conserve  the  surplus  water  in  this 
way. 

On  the  highest  point  of  the  mountain  stands 
a  tall  cross  with  a  tablet  to  the  memory  of  Father 
Serra,  and  a  huge  bell  has  been  erected  on  one  of 
the  boulders  as  a  memento  of  California  mission 
days.  On  Easter  morning  a  large  part  of  the  popu- 
lation of  Riverside  repairs  to  the  summit  of  the 
mountain  to  join  in  an  open-air  song-service  as  the 
sun  rises.  On  this  occasion  the  winding  drive,  as 
well  as  the  parking-place,  is  lined  with  hundreds  of 

93 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

cars,  showing  how  completely  the  automobile  has 
become  the  accepted  means  of  transportation  in 
Sunset-land. 

More  recently,  however,  the  crowds  have  so 
increased — fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  people  at- 
tending the  services — that  parking  on  the  road  or 
mountaintop  is  prohibited.  The  cars  must  quickly 
discharge  their  passengers  at  the  summit  and  im- 
mediately descend.  Many  people,  therefore,  make 
the  ascent  on  foot. 

The  time  has  slipped  away  rapidly  while  we 
have  been  admiring  the  prospect  from  Mount  Rubi- 
doux  or  clambering  over  the  huge  boulders  to  get 
vantage  points  for  our  camera.  Luncheon  hour  is 
at  hand  and  w^ith  pleasant  anticipations  we  glide 
down  the  winding  descent  and  through  the  broad 
streets  to  Frank  Miller's  Mission  Inn,  of  which  w^e 
have  heard  so  much  and — I  may  say — expect  so 
much.  After  this  and  many  subsequent  visits  to 
this  unique  hotel  we  can  frankly  say  that  our  expec- 
tations have  been  more  than  fulfilled;  it  w^ould  be 
hard  from  any  description  that  one  might  read  or 
hear  to  get  any  true  conception  of  this  charming 
retreat  for  the  discriminating  tourist.  Standing  as 
it  does  in  the  business  part  of  the  city  and  being 
confined  to  a  single  block,  one  can  not  conceive  of 
the  air  of  quiet  and  restfulness  with  which  Mr. 
Miller  has  invested  his  delightful  inn.  Once  past 
its  arched  portals  it  seems  as  if  w^e  have  entered 
some  secluded  retreat  miles  and  miles  away  from 
the  turmoil  of  the  workaday  world.  Our  car  is  left 
in  the  court  with  a  dozen  others  and  we  are  wel- 
comed as  though  we  were  expected  guests. 

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THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

Our  rooms  are  on  the  second  floor,  for  the 
Glenwood  is  no  sky-scraper.  Everything  is  plain 
but  substantial  and  homelike,  a  basket  of  California 
fruit  stands  invitingly  on  the  table.  The  lattice 
w^indow^s  open  upon  a  little  balcony  above  the 
court,  with  its  flowers,  climbing  vines,  palms  and 
orange  trees;  in  the  center  is  the  quaint  adobe  tea- 
house, and  around  it  run  corridors  reminiscent  of 
mission  cloisters.  It  is  a  cool,  pleasant  retreat,  quite 
atoning  for  the  absence  of  large  grounds  surround- 
ing the  hotel.  Luncheon  is  served  by  young  w^omen 
in  spotless  attire ;  I  like  the  girl  waiters  of  the  Cali- 
fornia resort  hotels — Coronado,  Del  Mar,  Del 
Monte,  Santa  Barbara,  and  Riverside — they  are 
more  attentive,  prompter,  and  pleasanter  to  look 
upon  than  their  brothers  of  the  greasy  tuxedo  in 
evidence  in  so  many  hotel  dining-rooms. 

One  does  not  find  the  time  hanging  heavily 
upon  his  hands  at  the  Mission  Inn.  It  will  be  long 
ere  he  has  explored  the  interior  of  the  great  ram- 
bling building  to  his  satisfaction,  from  the  curious 
collection  of  bells  on  the  roof  to  the  dim  mysteries 
of  the  cloistered  chapel.  A  building  so  redolent  of 
the  ancient  missions  w^ould  of  course  be  incomplete 
and  unsatisfying  without  its  chapel,  and  most  fit- 
tingly has  Frank  Miller  supplied  this  need.  A  large, 
dimly  lighted  apartment  with  heavily  beamed  ceil- 
ing, high  oaken  pews,  and  antique  chairs;  with 
stained-glass  windows  and  figures  of  saints  and 
prophets  and  supplied  with  a  magnificent  organ,  is 
certainly  an  ideal  chapel  for  the  Mission  Inn.  Its 
principal  window,  "St.  Cecilia,"  is  a  Tiffany 
masterpiece,  but  even  more  appropriate  seem  the 

95 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

huge  sepia-brown  photo-graven  negatives  of  west- 
ern wonders  of  forest,  mountain  and  stream.  Here 
w^e  delighted  to  linger,  listening  to  the  musical  re- 
citals which  occupy  a  good  part  of  the  afternoon 
and  inspecting  the  costly  furniture,  rugs  and  curios 
which  form  a  part  of  a  collection  from  all  over  the 
world.  Some  of  these  w^ere  "For  Sale,"  at  figures 
well  beyond  the  reach  of  common  persons  like  our- 
selves; but  there  is  a  little  shop  just  off  the  chapel 
with  a  stock  of  books,  pictures,  and  Indian  work,  in 
basketry,  and  trinkets  of  silver  and  bronze,  where 
a  modest  purse  has  a  fair  show^.  From  this  one  can 
wander  away  into  subterranean  apartments  fur- 
nished like  a  dream  of  old  Spain  and  lighted  with  the 
subdued  glow  of  many-colored  lamps.  Altogether, 
it  is  strangely  romantic  and  effective;  it  has  an 
oriental  savor  as  well  as  the  atmosphere  of  mission 
days. 

The  collection  of  bells  in  a  nook  on  the  roof 
always  interests  the  guests  and  you  can  hear  the 
mellow  notes  at  all  times  of  the  day.  There  are 
bells  from  California  missions,  bells  from  old  Eng- 
land, bells  from  Spain,  bells  from  China  and  Japan 
— and  Heaven  only  knows  from  what  other  corners 
of  the  earth.  There  are  antique  bells,  hundreds  of 
years  old,  and  bells  with  queer  histories.  Alto- 
gether, it  is  a  remarkable  collection  and  in  keeping 
with  the  characteristics  of  the  inn. 

If  one  grows  w^eary  of  indoors,  the  court  in- 
vites him  to  muse  amidst  its  semi-tropical  trees  and 
flowers,  to  lounge  in  the  vine-laden  pergolas,  or  to 
wander  through  the  long  vistas  of  arched  arcades, 

listening  to  the  murmuring  of  fountains  and  war- 

96 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

bling  of  the  birds.  He  will  catch  glimpses  of  Moor- 
ish towers  against  the  blue  sky  and  with  the  chim- 
ing of  the  vesper  bells  one  might  indeed  imagine 
himself  in  one  of  the  old-time  missions — Santa 
Barbara,  San  Juan  Bautista,  San  Antonio — a  hun- 
dred years  ago. 

A  notable  new  addition  was  completed  in 
191  5,  containing  many  de  luxe  suites  and  a  remark- 
able picture  gallery,  a  replica  of  a  hall  from  a  grand 
old  Spanish  palace.  The  ceiling  is  unique,  being 
formed  by  loosely  hung  folds  of  cloth  of  gold.  The 
walls  are  decorated  with  notable  paintings,  ancient 
and  modern,  and  many  interesting  objects  of  art 
are  scattered  about.  It  is  a  notable  apartment  in 
which  one  might  spend  hours  and  yet  wish  to  come 
again.  This  addition  is  constructed  of  steel  and 
concrete,  making  it  absolutely  fire-proof. 

On  one  of  our  later  visits  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
making  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Frank  Miller,  the 
Master  of  the  famous  Inn,  and  to  learn  from  him 
personally  something  of  the  founding  and  progress 
of  this  unique  institution.  His  father  came  to  River- 
side when  the  surrounding  country  was  a  cactus- 
studded  desert  and  was  a  pioneer  in  shaping  the 
marvelous  development  which  we  see  to-day.  The 
Millers,  among  other  enterprises,  kept  a  small  tav- 
ern the  Glenwood  Inn,  which  was  the  precursor  of 
the  great  establishment  of  to-day.  No  one  who 
knows  Frank  Miller  will  wonder  that  he  has 
achieved  such  great  success;  he  is  a  perfect  dynamo 
—full  of  energy,  keen,  alert,  with  a  remarkable 
quickness  of  decision  which  enables  him  to  rapidly 
dispose  of  the  multitude  of  details  that  come  to  his 


97 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

attention  daily  and  he  seldom  makes  an  error  in 
such  cases.  He  has  been  most  fortunate  in  choice 
of  his  aides,  it  is  true,  but  that  only  exhibits  another 
side  of  his  genius.  Elbert  Hubbard's  dictum  that 
"every  great  institution  is  the  lengthened  shadow 
of  some  man"  is  surely  exemplified  in  the  instance 
of  Frank  Miller  and  his  Riverside  Mission  Inn. 

We  find  enough  to  detain  us  for  several  days 
in  the  vicinity  of  Riverside.  One  should  not  miss 
the  charming  town  of  Redlands,  over  towards  the 
mountains,  and  it  may  be  viewed  from  Smiley 
Heights,  overlooking  the  low  foothills  on  which  the 
town  stands.  These  gardens  are  ornamented  with 
all  manner  of  flowers  and  semi-tropical  trees  and 
intersected  by  a  splendid  drive  w^hich  wends  its 
sinuous  course  along  the  hill-crest  on  w^hich  they 
are  situated.  They  are  lovingly  and  scrupulously 
cared  for  by  the  owners,  and  thrown  open  to  vis- 
itors as  freely  as  a  public  park.  Not  only  the 
gardens  are  worth  a  visit,  but  the  view  from  the 
heights  is  an  inspiring  one.  Just  below  lies  the 
beautiful  town  with  green  foothills  beyond,  dotted 
here  and  there  with  cultivated  fields.  Above  these, 
seemingly  very  near,  the  mightiest  of  the  southern 
Sierras  fling  their  gleaming  summits  into  the  deep 
azure  of  the  heavens.  Indeed,  it  seems  as  if  I  may 
have  already  w^earled  my  reader  w^ith  mountain-top 
views — though  my  book  is  only  begun.  But,  after 
all,  the  best  part  of  a  motor  tour  of  California  is 
the  series  of  wide  visions  from  hills  and  mountains, 
glorious  and  inspiring  beyond  any  description;  if 
my  random  notes  shall  induce  others,  even  though 

but  few,  to  a  like  pilgrimage,  it  is  enough ! 

98 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

Redlands  is  the  home  of  many  weahhy  people 
and  there  are  several  pretentious  residences  near 
the  entrance  to  Smiley  Heights.  In  this  regard  it 
easily  surpasses  the  better-known  Riverside — and 
Riverside  may  thank  the  Mission  Inn  for  its  wider 
fame.  On  a  hill  near  the  Heights  is  an  unfinished 
residence — begun  on  an  immense  scale  by  a  copper 
magnate — w^hich  was  to  surpass  in  size  and  glory 
everything  else  in  the  whole  section.  The  ambitious 
builder  failed  in  business  when  the  work  was  about 
half  done.  It  stands  in  pathetic  ruin  and  neglect 
and  no  one  else  has  cared  to  undertake  the  comple- 
tion of  the  pretentious  structure. 

Near  Redlands  is  the  village  of  Highlands, 
where  a  famous  brand  of  oranges  is  packed,  and 
through  the  courtesy  of  a  mutual  friend  we  were 
admitted  to  the  establishment,  which  handles  sev- 
eral carloads  of  fruit  daily.  Here  we  saw  the  oper- 
ations of  grading  and  sorting  the  oranges,  which  is 
done  mainly  by  automatic  machinery.  The  baskets 
are  emptied  into  hoppers  and  the  oranges  forced 
along  a  channel  with  holes  of  different  size 
through  which  the  fruit  falls  according  to  bulk.  In 
this  way  boxes  are  filled  with  nearly  uniform  sizes. 
The  boxes  are  made  by  a  wonderful  machine  which 
assembles  the  boards  and  drives  the  nails  at  a  single 
operation.  We  found  the  highest  grade  of  oranges 
remarkably  cheap  at  the  packing  house — less  than 
half  the  price  we  paid  at  home  for  a  poorer  quality. 

The  most  direct  inland  route  from  Los  Angeles 

to  San  Diego  is  by  the  way  of  Pomona,  Corona  and 

Elsinore,  but  those  who  do  not  care  to  drive  the  two 

hundred  or  more  miles  in    a    day    w^ill    break    the 

99 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

journey  at  Riverside,  and  it  was  from  Riverside 
that  we  started  on  this  glorious  mountain  trip.  A 
few  miles  southeast  of  the  town — following  Eighth 
Street — the  smooth  white  road  swings  over  the  easy 
stretches  of  Box  Springs  grade  through  undulating 
hills  to  Perris,  and  from  thence  through  the  wide 
valley  to  Elsinore,  in  all,  a  distance  of  about  thirty 
miles.  This  is  the  route  of  the  state  highway  and 
by  now  the  road  is  doubtless  near  perfection — 
though  much  of  it  was  rough  and  stony  when  we 
first  traversed  it.  But  what  an  inspiring  jaunt  we 
found  it  on  that  bright  May  day!  Far  away  rose 
the  silvery  summits — among  them  San  Gorgonio 
and  San  Jacinto,  the  highest  peaks  in  Southern 
California — and  nearer  at  hand  the  undulating  out- 
lines of  the  green  foothills.  Green  is  only  the  pre- 
vailing tone,  however,  for  the  hills  and  valley  are 
splotched  and  spangled  with  every  color  of  the  rain- 
bow. In  yonder  low-lying  meadow  are  lakes  of 
living  blue  and  white;  on  yonder  hillside  flame 
acres  of  the  burning  gold  of  the  California  poppies 
and  beneath  them  a  wide  belt  of  primrose  yellow. 
What  an  entrancing  view  there  was  from  some  of 
the  hill-crests! — wonderful  vistas  that  will  linger 
with  us  so  long  as  life  shall  last.  Out  beyond  the 
vivid  belts  of  color  that  dash  the  green  hills  lies  an 
indefinite  ocean  of  mountain  ranges,  fading  gradu- 
ally away  into  a  deep  purple  haze.  Here  and  there 
some  glittering  peak  rises  like  a  fairy  island  in  this 
ill-defined  sea,  crow^ning  and  dominating  every- 
thing. Not  less  entrancing  is  the  scene  near  at 
hand.  Along  the  road  gleam  many  strange  blooms 
which  I  wish  I  were  botanist  enough  to  name.     We 

100 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

knew  the  brilliant  red  Indian  paint-brush  and  the 
orange-gold  poppy,  but  that  was  about  all.  A 
hundred  other  varieties  of  blossoms  smiled  on  us 
from  the  roadside,  but  though  the  impression  of 
their  beauty  still  lingers,  they  must  remain  un- 
named. In  all  this  country  there  is  but  little  culti- 
vated land  and  habitations  are  few  and  far  between. 
Probably  the  short  water  supply  and  the  fact  that 
it  is  often  quite  cold  in  winter  will  preclude  profit- 
able farming  to  any  extent. 

Elsinore  is  a  quiet  little  town  deep  in  the  hills, 
situated  on  Lake  Elsinore — the  only  natural  lake 
of  any  consequence  in  Southern  California.  This 
is  an  exceedingly  variable  body  of  water,  a  differ- 
ence of  sixteen  feet  being  recorded  in  its  levels,  and 
at  the  time  of  our  visit  a  prolonged  drouth  had  re- 
duced it  to  the  minimum.  There  are  numerous  hot 
springs  in  the  vicinity  and  these  are  doubtless  re- 
sponsible for  the  several  hotels— the  Elsinore, 
Bundy  and  Lakeview— which  advertise  the  ad- 
vantages of  the  locaHty  as  a  health  resort.  Duck 
shooting  on  the  lake  also  brings  wayfarers  durmg 
the  hunting  season. 

On  our  first  visit  to  the  town  we  stopped  there 
for  luncheon  and  have  no  very  pleasant  recollec- 
tions of  our  repast;  the  next  time  we  ran  through 
Elsinore  we  brought  our  lunch  from  Riverside  and 
ate  it  in  a  shady  nook  by  the  roadside,  making  com- 
parisons to  the  disadvantage  of  hotels  m  generah 
In  fact,  we  became  more  and  more  partial  to  such 
open-air  luncheons  while  knocking  about  the  high- 
roads of  California.  It  saved  time  and  money  and 
had  such  a  delightful  flavor  from  the  great  glorious 


101 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

out-of-doors  in  this  favored  clime.  We  never  failed 
to  find  a  pleasant  spot — by  a  clear  stream  or  under 
a  great  oak  or  sycamore — and  we  can  heartily  com- 
mend the  practice  of  carrying  a  lunch  basket  and  a 
couple  of  thermos  bottles  filled  with  hot  coffee  while 
touring. 

On  another  occasion  we  followed  the  road 
which  leads  around  the  lake  and  found  the  side  op- 
posite the  town  by  far  the  most  beautiful.  Here  is 
a  fine  tract  of  farm  land  with  many  olive  groves 
and  peach  orchards,  some  of  w^hich  run  down  to 
the  rippling  water  which  gleamed  through  the  ser- 
ried trunks  as  we  coursed  along.  A  large  olive-oil 
mill  indicated  one  of  the  chief  industries  of  the 
community.  The  road  is  level  and  well  improved 
and  the  run  will  delight  anyone  who  has  the  oppor- 
tunity of  making  it. 

Out  of  Elsinore  the  San  Diego  road  strikes 
straight  away  to  the  southeast  for  a  good  many 
miles.  Here  w^e  are  reminded  that  we  are  in  the 
Ramona  country,  for  the  little  village  of  Temecula 
figures  in  the  book.  Here  is  supposed  to  have  been 
the  home  of  the  Indian  hero,  Alessandro,  w^ho  re- 
turns after  his  elopement  w^ith  Ramona  to  find  his 
people  driven  out  and  his  own  humble  cottage  oc- 
cupied by  a  drunken  American  and  his  family. 

There  is  little  now  in  Temecula  but  a  general 
store,  whose  proprietor  is  an  expert  on  Indian  bas- 
kets, of  which  he  had  a  really  fine  collection.  We 
especially  admired  some  examples  of  the  work  of 
the  Pala  Indians,  but  the  prices  asked  by  the  shop- 
keeper w^ere  not  so  much  to  our  liking.     We  would 

102 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

go  to  Pala  and  perchance  get  baskets  at  first  hand 
at  figures  more  in  keeping  with  our  purse. 

Beyond  Temecula  the  road  enters  the  hills  and 
winds  through  a  maze  of  trees  and  shrubbery.  We 
passed  under  mighty  oaks  and  here  and  there 
around  huge  granite  boulders,  which  at  some  time 
had  plunged  down  from  the  heights.  In  the  shadow 
of  one  of  these — a  huge  block  of  red  granite  fifty 
feet  in  diameter — we  paused  for  our  luncheon,  a 
very  simple  repast  with  the  plebeian  sandwich  as  the 
principal  course,  but  the  delightful  surroundings 
and  a  sharp  appetite  made  it  seem  a  banquet  fit  for 
a  king!  A  famished  dog  and  two  hungry-looking 
children  stole  out  of  a  cabin  a  few  rods  distant  to 
investigate  and  there  was  plenty  left  to  make  them 
happy,  too. 

From  this  point  we  began  the  ascent  of  Red 
Mountain  grade  over  a  new^  county  road  which 
flings  itself  around  the  giant  hills  in  graceful  curves 
and  easy  gradients.  There  were  wonderful  views 
as  we  ascended,  of  deep  yawning  canyons  and 
wooded  hill  ranges  tinged  with  the  pale  violet  of  the 
mountain  lilac,  and  fading  away  into  the  purple 
shadows  of  the  distance.  At  the  crest  of  the  hills 
we  passed  through  the  great  olive  groves  of  Red 
Mountain  Ranch.  There  are  several  thousand 
fine  trees  which  crowd  closely  to  the  roadside  for 
perhaps  a  mile.  A  real  estate  placard  declared  this 
region  to  be  "frostless,"  and  it  seems  to  have  vindi- 
cated this  claim  very  well,  for  it  showed  no  trace  of 
the  disastrous  freeze  of  1913,  which  sadly  blighted 
much  of  the  surrounding  country. 

Gliding  down  the  long  smooth  descent  for  sev- 

103 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

eral  miles,  we  came  to  Bonsai — the  existence  of 
which  we  should  never  have  discovered  had  it  not 
been  for  the  signboard — where  we  left  the  main 
road  for  Pala.  For  a  dozen  miles  w^e  followed  a 
sinuous  road  along  the  San  Luis  Rey  River,  bor- 
dered by  trees  and  shrubbery  in  endless  variety, 
until  we  found  ourselves  in  the  streets  of  the  queer 
little  Indian  town.  Before  us  rose  the  whitewashed 
walls  and  quaint  bell-tower  of  the  much-restored 
mission,  surrounded  by  the  wooden  huts,  each  very 
much  like  every  other.  Each  had  its  tiny  garden 
patch,  showing  in  most  cases  infinite  care,  and,  as 
we  learned,  requiring  infinite  labor,  for  all  the 
water  had  to  be  pumped  or  carried  from  the  river 
for  irrigation.  We  were  told,  however,  that  the 
government  w^as  building  a  pipe  line  and  that  on  its 
completion  in  a  few  months  Pala  would  speedily 
spring  into  verdure. 

While  we  were  getting  our  bearings  the  ladies 
of  our  party  made  a  hurried  round  of  several  of  the 
cottages,  fully  expecting  to  find  Pala  baskets  in  un- 
limited quantities  at  bargain  prices.  It  was  w^ith 
considerable  chagrin  that  they  reported  not  a  basket 
to  be  found  in  the  tow^n;  an  old  Indian  declared  that 
no  baskets  were  now  made — the  women  and  girls 
of  the  village  w^ere  learning  lace-making,  w^hich 
they  hoped  w^ould  be  easier  and  more  remunerative. 
Indeed,  from  all  we  could  learn,  basket-making  is 
becoming  a  lost  art  among  the  California  Indians. 
Contact  with  civilization  seems  to  have  killed  the 
infinite  care  and  patience  necessary  to  produce  the 
finer  examples  of  this  work,  which  is  now  done  in 
a  very  small  way  by  the  older  women. 

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THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

A  year  later  we  came  to  Pala  again  and  hardly 
recognized  the  place,  so  great  was  the  improvemei 
wrought  by  the  completion  of  the  w^ater  supply 
w^ork.  The  cottages  were  surrounded  by  flowers 
and  the  little  garden  patches  looked  green  and  thriv- 
ing. The  government  schoolhouse  had  been  com- 
pleted and  we  saw  a  score  or  more  of  well-man- 
nered and  intelligent-looking  children  at  their 
studies.  The  lace-making  school  w^as  also  in  this 
building  and  the  authority  of  our  party  declared  the 
work  really  fine  and  the  prices  very  low.  We  felt 
the  more  willing  to  make  a  small  purchase  of  the 
laces  w^hen  the  matron  assured  us  that  every  sale 
was  of  material  help  to  the  poor  people  of  the  com- 
munity. The  women  and  girls  are  willing  to  work 
diligently  if  they  can  earn  only  a  few  cents  a  day, 
but  they  have  the  greatest  difficulty  in  disposing  of 
their  product. 

We  found  the  mission  in  charge  of  Father 
Doyle,  a  kindly  and  courteous  gentleman  and  a 
fellow-motorist,  since  he  visits  his  few  charges  by 
means  of  his  trusty  Ford.  He  lives  in  the  old  mis- 
sion building  in  very  plain — even  primitive — quar- 
ters; clearly,  his  work  is  a  labor  of  love  and  faith, 
since  what  else  could  induce  a  young  and  vigorous 
man  to  lead  such  a  comfortless  and  exacting  life? 
He  told  us  the  history  of  the  mission — how  Pa 
was  founded  about  a  hundred  years  ago  by  Padre 
Peyri  as  an  "assistancia"  to  San  Luis  Rey,  about 
twenty  miles  away.  It  prospered  at  the  start,  its 
conversions  numbering  over  a  thousand  in  two 
years.     The  chapel  was  built  shortly  after — a  long, 

narrow  adobe  twenty-seven  by  one  hundred  and 

105 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

forty-four  feet,  with  roof  of  characteristic  mission 
tiles.  As  a  result  of  the  secularization  by  the  Mexi- 
can government,  Pala  rapidly  declined  and  when  it 
came  into  the  possession  of  the  Americans,  it  w^as 
already  falling  into  ruin.  It  was  finally  deeded  to 
the  Landmarks  Club,  which  agreed  that  it  should 
revert  to  its  proper  ownership,  meaning,  doubtless, 
the  Catholic  Church.  When  Father  Doyle  came 
here,  it  was  in  a  sad  state  of  decay,  but  with  untir- 
ing zeal  and  energy  he  has  restored  the  chapel  and 
rebuilt  the  quaint  campanile  or  bell-tower.  Father 
Doyle  pointed  out  his  work  on  the  chapel — the 
restoration  of  the  walls  and  old  tile  roof — but  little 
has  been  done  to  the  interior,  which  still  has  its 
original  floor  of  square  tiles  and  rude,  unhewn 
beams  supporting  the  roof.  The  priest  who  pre- 
ceded him  for  a  short  time  evidently  had  little  senti- 
ment, for  he  had  ruthlessly  covered  up  the  ancient 
Indian  decorations  with  a  coat  of  whitewash.  Father 
Doyle  had  removed  it  carefully  in  places,  exposing 
the  old  frescoes,  and  hoped  it  might  be  possible  to 
complete  this  work  some  time.  In  the  chapel  are 
two  odd  wooden  statues  from  Spain,  gaudily 
colored  and  gilded,  of  the  Virgin  and  San  Luis  Rey, 
which  the  father  declared  were  highly  venerated  by 
his  Indian  parishioners.  He  also  showed  us  with 
much  pride  a  few  vestments  used  by  the  early 
padres,  and  a  fine  collection  of  baskets — mostly 
given  him  by  the  makers — of  the  different  tribes 
among  which  he  had  w^orked. 

The  most  distinctive  and  picturesque  feature 
of  Pala  Mission  is  the  quaint  campanile,  of  which 
our  picture  will  be  far  more  descriptive  than  any 

106 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

words.  The  present  structure  is  largely  a  restora- 
tion by  Father  Doyle,  who  also  rescued  and  hung 
the  two  large  bronze  bells  now  in  the  niches  of  the 
tow^er.  The  dormitory  building  is  quite  ruinous — 
with  the  exception  of  the  priest's  quarters  and  a  por- 
tion occupied  by  a  small  general  store,  it  has  almost 
vanished. 

The  Indians  now  living  in  Pala  are  not  the 
descendants  of  the  original  inhabitants  of  the  village 
when  the  mission  was  founded.  These  were  ousted 
after  the  American  occupation  and  scattered  in  the 
surrounding  hills,  having  now  practically  disap- 
peared. The  present  population  is  made  up  of  the 
Palatingwa  tribe,  which  was  evicted  from  Warner's 
Ranch  some  twenty  miles  away  and  given  a  home 
here  by  the  Government.  An  effort  is  now  being 
made  to  improve  their  condition  and  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  tardy  justice  will  make  some  amends 
for  all  that  the  red  men  about  Pala  have  suffered  at 
the  hands  of  their  white  brothers. 

We  inquire  the  road  to  Escondido  and  Father 
Doyle  tells  us  that  the  shortest  route  is  to  cross  the 
river  and  strike  over  the  hills  to  Lilac  and  Valley 
Center.  It  may  be  the  shortest  route,  but  a 
rougher,  steeper,  stonier  byroad  is  not  common, 
even  in  California.  It  winds  along  the  hill-crests 
with  sharp  little  pitches  and  short  turns  that  will 
compel  any  driver  to  attend  carefully  to  business. 
It  would  have  been  better  to  follow  the  river  to  the 
junction  with  the  main  road,  though  the  distance 
is  a  few  miles  farther.  At  Valley  Center — which 
is  only  a  ranch-house — we  came  into  a  fairly  good 
highway  which  steadily  improved  as  we  approached 

107 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

Escondido.  It  was  on  this  fine  road  that  we  spied 
a  huge  rattlesnake  basking  in  the  afternoon  sun, 
too  lazy  or  too  defiant  to  make  much  effort  to  get 
out  of  the  way  of  our  wheels,  which  passed  over 
him.  A  blow  from  a  rock  finished  him,  and  his 
twelve-jointed  rattle  was  added  to  our  trophies.  It 
seemed  a  pity  to  leave  his  beautifully  marked  sepia- 
brown  skin,  but  we  had  no  facilities  for  removing 
and  caring  for  it. 

Escondido  means  "hidden,"  a  name  probably 
suggested  by  the  location  of  the  little  town  deep  in 
the  mammoth  hills.  It  is,  however,  the  best  town 
on  the  inland  route  between  Riverside  and  San 
Diego,  and  though  small,  it  is  apparently  an  ener- 
getic community.  The  main  street  was  being 
macadamized  and  improved  for  some  distance  out 
of  the  town,  and  a  large  hotel  and  handsome  school- 
house  testified  to  its  enterprise.  For  some  miles  to 
the  south  of  the  town  the  road  is  straight  and  level ; 
then  we  re-enter  the  hills  and  begin  the  ascent  of 
the  finely  engineered  Poway  grade.  The  road 
swings  up  the  giant  hills  in  long,  easy  loops  and  as 
we  near  the  summit  the  whole  grade  lies  before  our 
eyes  as  we  look  backward  down  the  canyon.  From 
the  crest  there  is  another  wonderful  view  of  hills 
touched  with  the  declining  sun  and  wooded  can- 
yons shrouded  in  the  amethystine  haze  of  evening. 
To  the  right  a  road  cuts  across  the  hills  to  Lajolla 
by  the  sea  and  we  followed  this  on  one  occasion.  It 
is  a  narrow,  little-used  road  running  along  the  hill- 
crests  or  clinging  precariously  to  their  sides,  but  it 
proved  smoother  and  easier  than  we  anticipated. 
It    passes    through     Miramar — the   great   country 

108 


THE  INLAND  ROUTE  TO  SAN  DIEGO 

estate  of  a  millionaire  newspaper  man — comprising 
many  thousands  of  acres.  Some  of  the  land  was 
cultivated,  but  the  great  bulk  of  it  is  in  cattle  ranges. 
For  miles  we  saw  no  human  habitation  and  had 
some  difficulty  in  keeping  the  right  road.  We  came 
into  the  main  coast  road  a  few^  miles  north  of  La 
Jolla  and  hastened  to  Del  Mar — of  which  more 
anon — where  we  preferred  to  pass  the  night  rather 
than  at  San  Diego. 

On  our  first  trip,  however,  we  continued  on 
our  w^ay  to  the  city  and  gliding  down  Poway  grade 
we  came  to  a  fork  in  the  road  with  a  sign  informing 
us  that  one  branch  led  to  San  Diego  by  Murphy 
Canyon  and  the  other  by  Murray  Canyon.  We 
chose  the  former,  believing,  for  obvious  reasons, 
that  it  must  be  the  best,  and  soon  came  into  the 
new^-old  town  on  the  quiet,  land-locked  harbor, 
where  the  w^hite  man's  work  in  California  had  its 
beginings. 


109 


VI 
ROUND  ABOUT  SAN  DIEGO 

If  one  wishes  to  stop  within  the  city  of  San 
Diego,  he  will  find  the  U.  S.  Grant  Hotel  equal  to 
the  best  metropolitan  hostelries  and  when  he  comes 
to  settle  his  bill,  will  also  learn  that  the  best  metro- 
politan establishments  "have  nothing  on"  the 
Grant  in  the  way  of  stiff  charges.  It  is  a  huge,  con- 
crete structure — "absolutely  fire-proof,"  of  course 
— and  its  interior  appointments  and  furnishings  are 
in  keeping  with  its  imposing  exterior.  It  is  justly 
the  pride  of  San  Diego  and,  despite  the  marvelous 
growth  of  the  town,  it  will  be  long  before  it  out- 
grows this  magnificent  hotel. 

There  is  much  for  the  tourist  stranger  to  see 
about  San  Diego — the  oldest  settlement  of  the 
white  man  in  California.  The  motor  car  affords 
ideal  means  for  covering  the  surrounding  country 
in  the  shortest  time  and  with  the  assistance  of  the 
excellent  maps  of  the  Auto  Club  of  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, one  can  easily  locate  the  points  of  interest 
in  the  immediate  vicinity  outside  the  limits  of  the 
city. 

The  old  mission  will  usually  be  the  first  ob- 
jective, and  more  especially  it  appeals  to  ourselves, 
who  have  already  determined  to  traverse  the  entire 
length  of  the  King's  Highway  to  visit  all  the  decay- 
ing monuments  to  the  work  of  the  zealous  Francis- 
can padres.    It  has  a  special  significance  as  the  earli- 

110 


2? 

2  ffi 


r    P 


fan 


<  2 


ROUND  ABOUT  SAN  DIEGO 

est  Spanish  settlement  in  California  and  as  the  be- 
ginning of  a  movement  that  has  widely  influenced 
the  history  and  architecture  of  the  state.     The  story 
of  its  founding  1  have  already  told  in  brief ;  its  his- 
tory in  a  general  way  was  much  the  same  as  that  of 
San  Gabriel.     Our  outline  of  the  mission  play  in  a 
preceding  chapter  gives  a  true  conception   of   its 
earliest  days;   owing  to  the  distrust  of  the  natives 
it  was  long  before  converts  were  made  in  consider- 
able numbers.     The  region  about  was  well  peopled, 
but  only  seventy-one  converts  had  been  secured  by 
1  774,  six  years  after  Serra's  landing.     A  year  later 
the  mission  was  attacked  by  a  horde    of    savages, 
variously  estimated  at  from  five  to  eight  hundred, 
who  burned  the  rude  brush-roofed  building  to  the 
ground  and  murdered  Father  Jayme,  one  of    the 
priests.     When  news  of  the  disaster  reached  Father 
Serra,  w^ho  had  gone  northward  to  Monterey,  he 
rejoiced  in  the  martyrdom  of  his  friend.     "God  be 
praised!"  he  cried.     "The  soil  is  now  watered,"  thus 
accepting  the  calamity  as  a  presage  of  victory  to 
come.     The  troubles  with  the    natives    continued 
until    1779,  when  they  were  pacified  by  some  of 
their  number  being  made  officials  in    the    society, 
Alcades  and  Regidores,  as  they  were  styled.   These 
dignitaries  administered  justice  to  their  own  people 
under  the  direction  of  the  padres  and  from  this  time 
the  progress  of  the  mission  was  rapid.     In  1800  it 
was  the  most  populous  of  the  missions,  its  neo- 
phytes   numbering    fifteen    hundred    and    twenty- 
three.     More  substantial  buildings  had  been  erected 
and  an  extensive  scheme  of  irrigation  had  been  be- 
gun, remains  of  which  astonish  the  beholder  to-day. 


Ill 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

The  great  dam  is  in  a  gorge  about  three  miles  above 
the  mission.  It  was  built  of  gray  granite  twelve 
feet  thick  and  stands  as  firm  and  solid  as  ever, 
though  it  is  now  nearly  filled  w^ith  sand. 

The  mission's  prosperity  continued,  w^ith  oc- 
casional interruptions  on  account  of  differences 
with  the  natives,  until  the  secularization  in  1 833. 
After  this  the  Indians  were  gradually  scattered  and 
were  decimated  in  frequent  clashes  with  the  Span- 
ish soldiers.  Eleven  years  later  an  official  report 
showed  but  one  hundred  natives  connected  with 
the  mission  as  against  more  than  fifteen  hundred  in 
its  palmy  days — a  fact  w^hich  needs  no  elucidation 
to  show^  the  results  of  Mexican  confiscation.  The 
buildings  were  reported  by  a  United  States  officer 
to  be  "in  good  preservation"  in  1  852,  and  were  then 
occupied  by  American  troops. 

To-day  only  the  "fachada"  of  the  old  church 
remains.  It  stands  on  a  hillside  about  five  miles 
northeast  of  the  city  and  overlooks  the  beautiful 
valley  of  the  San  Diego  River.  The  avenue  lead- 
ing to  it  from  the  main  road  passes  between  long 
rows  of  eucalyptus  trees  and  the  ruin  itself  presents 
a  picturesque  effect  in  its  setting  of  palms  and  black 
and  silver-gray  olives.  A  large  dormitory  near  by 
houses  several  priests,  who  courteously  receive  the 
visitor  and  tell  him  the  story  of  the  mission.  There 
is  little  to  show,  but  one  w^ho  is  interested  in  the 
romantic  history  of  the  Golden  State  will  find  him- 
self loath  to  leave  the  time-mellowed  fragment  of, 
perhaps,  her  most  historic  building.  And  his  rever- 
ies will  be  saddened  by  the  thought  that  the  precious 
old  structure  is  rapidly  falling  into  decay,  which 

112 


ROUND  ABOUT  SAN  DIEGO 

will  mean  its  ultimate  extinction  unless  energetic 
measures  are  adopted  to  restore  and  protect  it. 
Surely  the  earliest  relic  of  the  beginning  of  civiliza- 
tion on  our  great  Pacific  Coast  is  deserving  of  lov- 
ing and  conscientious  care. 

On  our  return  to  the  city  we  left  the  main 
highway  a  short  distance  from  the  mission  and  pur- 
sued a  mountain  road  to  Lakeside  Inn,  then  a  much- 
advertised  resort.  This  road — a  mere  shelf  cut  in 
the  side  of  the  hills — closely  follows  the  course  of 
the  San  Diego  River,  usually  far  above  it,  with  a 
cliff-like  declivity  at  the  side.  It  is  quite  narrow  in 
places  and  there  are  many  sharp  turns  around 
abrupt  corners — a  road  not  altogether  conducive  to 
peace  of  mind  in  nervous  people.  The  scenery, 
however,  makes  the  trip  worth  while — the  river 
boiling  over  its  boulder-strewn  bed  and  the  wooded 
hills  on  every  hand  combining  to  make  a  wild  but 
inspiring  picture. 

The  inn  was  an  immense  wooden  structure, 
since  destroyed  by  fire.  Handsome  grounds  did 
much  to  make  up  for  the  rather  shabby  appearance 
of  the  building.  The  lake  was  an  artificial  pond — 
about  the  only  kind  of  lake  to  be  found  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  San  Diego.  The  excellent  dinner  was  the 
strong  point  in  the  Lakeside's  favor,  and  this  was 
doubtless  the  attraction  which  brought  several  cars 
besides  our  own,  as  nearly  all  left  shortly  after  the 
meal.  We  lounged  about  the  grounds  for  awhile 
and  then  followed  suit,  taking  a  different  road — by 
the  way  of  El  Cajon  and  La  Mesa — an  easier 
though  less  spectacular  route  than  that  by  which 
we  came. 

113 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

This  passes  Grosmont,  a  great  conical  hill 
some  twelve  hundred  feet  high,  and  a  well-engi- 
neered roadway  leads  to  the  summit.  Of  course 
we  must  make  the  ascent,  though  the  steep  appear- 
ance of  the  grades  caused  the  occupants  of  the  rear 
seat  some  uneasiness.  The  ascent  did  not  prove  so 
difficult  as  we  anticipated  at  first  glance,  though  the 
pitch  just  before  one  comes  to  the  summit  is  enough 
to  worry  any  careful  driver  a  little.  The  view  from 
the  hill  is  advertised  as  "the  grandest  panorama  in 
the  world;  one  that  simply  beggars  description," 
and  "Fighting  Bob"  Evans  is  quoted  as  having  said, 
"Of  all  the  beautiful  views  in  the  world,  give  me 
Grosmont;  nothing  that  I  have  ever  seen  can  beat 
it."  It  may  have  been  that  the  bluff  admiral  climbed 
Grosmont  after  an  extended  voyage  at  sea  and  any 
land  was  bound  to  look  good  to  him.  Lillian  Rus- 
sell, the  actress,  is  quoted  by  the  guide-book  in  a 
similar  strain,  but  while  Lillian  is  an  accepted 
authority  on  personal  pulchritude,  I  do  not  know 
that  she  can  claim  the  same  distinction  with  refer- 
ence to  scenic  beauty.  In  any  event,  while  the  view 
from  Grosmont  is  truly  grand  and  inspiring,  I  am 
very  sure  that  we  saw  many  nobler  ones  from  Cali- 
fornia mountain  peaks.  Indeed,  we  saw  one  still 
more  glorious  the  next  day — of  w^hich  more  anon. 
The  view,  however,  is  well  worth  the  climb  to  any- 
one fond  of  panoramas  and  free  from  nervous 
qualms  on  mountain  roads. 

Of  course  everyone  who  comes  to  San  Diego 
must  see  the  Coronado,  whose  pointed  red  towers 
have  become  familiar  everywhere  through  exten- 
sive advertising  and  whose  claim  as  the  "largest 

114 


ROUND  ABOUT  SAN  DIEGO 

resort  hotel  in  the  world"  has  not  been  disputed,  so 
far  as  I  know.  It  is  situated  on  the  northern  point 
of  the  long  strip  of  sand  that  shuts  in  the  waters  of 
San  Diego  Bay  and  which  widens  to  several  hun- 
dred yards,  affording  extensive  grounds  for  the 
hotel  as  well  as  sites  for  numerous  private  resi- 
dences and  a  small  village.  It  may  be  reached  by 
ferry  from  the  city  or  one  may  drive  around  the  bay 
— a  distance  of  twenty-one  miles,  and  when  we 
undertook  it  a  very  rough  road  for  the  greater  part 
of  the  way.  The  drive  is  not  very  interesting;  the 
shore  is  flat,  and  there  is  little  opportunity  to  get  a 
view  of  the  bay.  It  is  the  kind  of  trip  that  one  cares 
to  make  but  once,  and  on  subsequent  visits  to  Cor- 
onado  we  crossed  by  the  ferry,  w^hich  carried  our 
car  cheaply  and  satisfactorily. 

The  "season"  having  passed,  we  experienced 
no  difficulty  in  getting  accommodations  at  the  Cor- 
onado,  not  always  easy  to  do  "off  hand"  in  the 
winter  months.  The  rates  glibly  quoted  by  the 
genial  clerk  jarred  us  a  little  but  we  consoled  our- 
selves with  the  reflection  that  we  wouldn't  pay 
them  for  a  very  lengthy  period.  That  was  before 
the  war,  however,  and  in  retrospect  the  figures  do 
not  loom  so  large  by  any  means ! 

Our  rooms  were  worth  the  money,  however; 

they  were  large  and  airy ;  the  big  casement  windows 

opened  on  one  side  upon  the  sunset  sweep  of  the 

Pacific,  and  on  the  other  we  came  into  a  corridor 

overlooking  the  tropic  beauty  of  the  great  court. 

The  Coronado  is  on  such  a  vast  scale  that  it  takes 

one  some  time  to  get  his  bearings,  and  though  the 

hotel  can  accommodate  upwards    of    a    thousand 

115 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

guests  at  a  time,  the  public  rooms  and  grounds 
never  seem  crowded.  Its  most  distinctive  interior 
feature  is  the  great  circular  ball-room,  perhaps  two 
hundred  feet  in  diameter,  and  covered  by  an  open- 
beamed  pavilion  roof.  But  the  interior  is  of  less 
consequence  to  the  average  Eastern  guest  than  the 
outside  surroundings — the  climate  of  eternal  un- 
changing summer,  the  tropical  foliage  and  flowers, 
and  the  never-ending  roll  of  the  blue  ocean  on  the 
long  sandy  beach.  Here  is  the  most  equable  tem- 
perature in  the  United  States,  if  not  in  the  world, 
the  w^inter  mean  being  fifty-six  degrees  and  the 
summer  sixty-eight.  Frost  has  never  been  known 
on  the  little  peninsula;  even  the  freeze  of  1913  did 
not  touch  it.  It  is  not  strange,  then,  that  it  glows 
with  the  brilliant  color  of  numberless  flower-beds 
and  that  almost  every  variety  of  these  is  shown  in 
the  collection  of  many  hundreds  in  the  Coronado 
court.  Here,  too,  is  one  of  those  delightful  features 
of  Southern  California,  an  open-air  aviary,  where 
hundreds  of  songsters  and  birds  of  brilliant  plumage 
are  given  practical  freedom  in  a  great  cage.  There 
are  several  miles  of  fine  driveways  about  the  hotel 
and  village,  and  one  can  explore  the  place  in  a  short 
time  by  motor.  He  will  learn  a  fact  that  many  peo- 
ple do  not  know — that  the  hotel  is  not  all  of  Cor- 
onado, by  any  means.  Here  is  a  good-sized  village 
with  many  handsome  residences.  There  are  also 
several  cheaper  lodging-houses  and  one  can  live  as 
economically  as  he  chooses  in  the  "tent  city"  dur- 
ing the  season. 

Coronado  would  never  appeal  to  such  nomads 
as  ourselves  as  a  place  to  stay  for  any  length  of 

116 


ROUND  ABOUT  SAN  DIEGO 

time — even  forgetting  the  "freight,"  if  we  were 
able  to  be  so  happily  oblivious  to  a  matter  of  such 
moment  to  us.  After  a  saunter  about  the  grounds, 
indescribably  glorious  in  the  tempered  sunlight,  and 
a  drive  about  the  village,  we  were  ready  for  the  road 
again.  Like  nearly  every  stranger  who  comes  to 
San  Diego,  we  were  hankering  for  an  excursion 
into  Old  Mexico — just  to  be  able  to  declare  we  had 
been  there — and  the  short  jaunt  to  Tia  Juana  served 
this  very  useful  purpose.  The  trip  was  doubly 
sensational  since  Tia  Juana  had  recently  been  the 
seat  of  genuine  war,  and  you  could  see  bullet  holes 
in  the  wretched  little  hovels.  It  was  even  guarded 
by  a  "fort,"  which  chanced  to  be  deserted  at  the 
time  of  our  incursion.  The  village  lies  only  two  or 
three  miles  across  the  border-line,  beyond  which  the 
road  was  simply  execrable.  It  meandered  in  an 
aimless  fashion  across  the  wide  plain  and  was  deep 
with  dust  and  full  of  chuck-holes  that  wrenched  the 
car  unmercifully.  And  after  we  arrived  we  found 
nothing  but  a  scattered  hamlet  made  up  of  souvenir 
stores,  saloons,  and  a  few  poor  little  cottages.  Evi- 
dently the  place  depends  for  its  existence  on  the 
troops  of  tourists  from  across  the  border,  and  Tia 
Juana — which,  being  interpreted,  means  "Aunt 
Jane" — welcomes  them  as  cordially  as  her  limited 
means  permit. 

While  the  ladies  ransacked  the  counters  of  the 
souvenir  store  for  bargains — principally,  no  doubt, 
for  the  satisfaction  of  carrying  a  little  "contraband" 
over  the  border — we  endeavored  to  interview  some 
of  the  native  loafers  on  the  status  of  the  revolution, 
but  got  only  a  "No  sabe"  for  our  pains.     A  few 

117 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

minutes  of  Tia  Juana  will  generally  satisfy  the  most 
ardent  tourist  and  we  w^ere  not  long  in  turning  the 
"Forty"  U.  S.-ward.  The  customs  official  waved 
us  a  nonchalent  salute — he  did  not  even  give  us  the 
courtesy  of  a  cursory  glance  into  the  car;  evidently 
he  knew  that  one  would  find  nothing  in  Tia  Juana 
worth  smuggling  into  the  country.  We  bade  fare- 
w^ell  to  the  land  of  the  greaser  with  a  feeling  of 
double  satisfaction ;  we  had  been  in  Mexico — quite 
as  far  as  we  cared  to  go  under  conditions  then  exist- 
ing— and  we  were  glad  to  get  off  the  abominable 
road. 

A  vast  change  has  come  over  the  once  stupid 
and  harmless  Tia  Juana  since  the  advent  of  the  pro- 
hibition laws.  As  might  be  expected,  it  affords  an 
easily  reached  and  very  welcome  oasis  for  bibulous- 
ly  inclined  tourists  from  the  United  States,  hun- 
dreds of  whom  daily  cross  the  border  to  enjoy  their 
"personal  freedom"  in  the  now^  lively  town.  Not 
only  does  liquor  flow  freely  there,  but  gambling, 
race-track  betting  and  other  still  w^orse  vices  flour- 
ish unchecked.  A  vigorous  agitation  is  being  made 
in  San  Diego — which  is  used  as  a  rendezvous  by  a 
host  of  undesirable  individuals  connected  w^ith  the 
Tia  Juana  resorts — to  restrict  greatly  the  issuing 
of  passports,  without  which  one  can  not  cross  the 
border.  The  new  Mexican  government  has  also 
promised  to  make  an  effort  to  suppress  the  rampant 
vice  in  the  town,  but  little  in  this  direction  has  been 
accomplished  at  the  present  writing. 

No  one  will  wish  to  leave  San  Diego  without  a 
visit  to  the  Old  Town,  for  here  is  the  identical  spot 
where  Father  Serra  first  landed  and  began  his  work 

118 


ROUND  ABOUT  SAN  DIEGO 

of  converting  and  civilizing  the  natives.  Here  was 
really  the  first  mission,  though  afterwards  it  was  re- 
moved to  the  site  which  we  had  already  visited. 
Here  General  Fremont  hoisted  the  stars  and  stripes 
in  I  846 — less  than  a  century  after  Serra's  coming. 
Here  is  the  old  church  with  its  mission  bells  brought 
from  Spain  in  1  802 ;  the  earliest  palm  trees  in  the 
state;  the  old  graveyard,  with  its  pathetic  wooden 
headboards;  the  first  brick  house  in  California 
(another  may  also  be  seen  in  Monterey)  ;  the  foun- 
dation of  the  huge  Catholic  church,  projected  many 
years  ago  but  never  completed;  and  the  old  jail 
"built  by  the  original  California  grafter,"  as  the 
prospectus  of  the  enterprising  proprietor  of  "Ra- 
mona's  Wedding  Place"  declares. 

The  Old  Town  adjoins  the  city  just  where  the 
Los  Angeles  road  leaves  the  bay  for  the  north. 
Perhaps  this  is  not  strictly  correct,  for  the  limits  of 
San  Diego  extend  northward  nearly  to  Del  Mar, 
taking  in  a  vast  scope  of  thinly  populated  country 
w^hich  no  doubt  the  enthusiastic  San  Diegans  ex- 
pect to  be  converted  into  solid  city  blocks  before 
long.  There  are  many  ancient  adobe  houses  in  the 
Old  Town,  the  most  notable  of  which  is  the  Estu- 
dillo  Mansion,  popularly  known  as  Ramona's  Wed- 
ding Place.  It  was  doubtless  the  house  that  Mrs. 
Jackson  had  in  mind  when  she  brought  her  Indian 
hero  and  his  bride  to  old  San  Diego  after  their  flight 
from  Temecula,  where  they  had  expected  to  be  mar- 
ried. This  is,  of  course,  purely  fictional,  but  the 
house  is  an  excellent  type  of  the  ancient  Spanish 
residence  of  the  better  class.   It  was  burned  in  1872, 

but  the  solid  adobe  walls  still  stood  and  a  few^  years 

119 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

ago  the  house  was  restored.  It  is  now  a  museum 
and  curio  store,  and  the  proprietor  is  an  enthusiastic 
antiquarian  and  an  authority  on  mission  history. 
The  house  covers  nearly  a  city  block;  it  is  built  in 
the  shape  of  a  hollow  square,  open  on  one  side,  and 
around  the  interior  runs  a  wide  veranda  surround- 
ing a  court.  This  is  beautiful  with  flowers  and 
shrubbery  and  to  one  side  is  a  cactus  garden  con- 
taining nearly  every  known  species  of  this  strange 
plant.  The  collection  of  paintings,  antique  furni- 
ture, and  other  relics  relating  to  early  days  in  Cali- 
fornia is  worth  seeing  and  one  can  learn  something 
of  the  history  and  romance  of  the  missions  from 
the  hourly  lecture  delivered  by  the  proprietor.  He 
will  also  take  pleasure  in  telling  you  about  the  Old 
Town  and  his  experience  with  the  Indians,  from 
whom  he  purchases  a  large  part  of  his  baskets,  sil- 
ver trinkets,  and  other  articles  in  his  shop.  One 
can  easily  put  in  an  hour  here,  and  if  time  does  not 
press,  the  garden  is  a  pleasant  lounging-place  for 
a  longer  period. 

A  motor  tour  of  San  Diego  must  surely  include 
the  drive  over  the  splendid  new  boulevard  that  fol- 
lows the  sinuous  length  of  Point  Loma  to  the  old 
lighthouse  standing  on  the  bold  headland  which 
rises  at  the  northern  entrance  of  the  harbor.  It  is 
a  dilapidated  stone  structure,  only  twenty  or  thirty 
feet  high,  but  from  the  little  tower  we  saw  one  of 
the  most  glorious  views  of  all  those  we  witnessed 
during  our  thirty  thousand  miles  of  motoring  in 
California.  The  scene  from  Grosmont  is  a  mag- 
nificent one,  but  it  lacks  the  variety  and  color  of  the 
Point  Loma  panorama.      Here  ocean,  bay,  green 

120 


ROUND  ABOUT  SAN  DIEGO 

hills  with  lemon  and  olive  groves,  and  distant  snow- 
clad  mountains  combine  to  form  a  scene  of  beauty 
and  grandeur  that  it  is  not  easy  to  match  elsewhere. 
Almost  at  our  feet  swell  the  inrolling  waves  of  the 
violet-blue  Pacific,  which  stretches  away  like  a 
symbol  of  infinity  to  the  pale  sapphire  sky  that 
meets  it  to-day  with  a  sharply  defined  line.  The 
harbor  is  a  strange  patchwork  of  color;  gleaming 
blues — from  sapphire  to  indigo — and  emerald- 
greens  nearer  the  shores,  flecked  here  and  there 
with  spots  of  purple,  and  the  whole  diversified  with 
craft  of  every  description.  Across  the  strait  is  a 
w^ide,  barren  sand  flat  and  a  little  farther  the  red 
towers  of  Coronado  in  its  groves  of  palm  trees. 
Beyond  the  harbor  the  city  spreads  out,  wonder- 
fully distinct  in  the  clear  sunlight  that  pours  down 
upon  it.  Still  farther  lie  the  green  hills  and  beyond 
these  the  mountains,  growing  dimmer  and  dimmer 
w^ith  each  successive  range.  Here  and  there  in  the 
distance,  perhaps  a  hundred  miles  away,  a  white 
peak  gleams  through  the  soft  blue  haze.  Nearer  at 
hand  you  see  the  rugged  contour  of  Point  Loma 
itself;  the  tall  slender  shaft  that  marks  the  graves 
of  the  victims  of  the  explosion  on  the  Cruiser  Ben- 
nington a  few  years  ago ;  the  oriental  towers  of  the 
Theosophical  Institute,  and  down  along  the  water 
line  the  guns  and  defenses  of  Fort  Rosecrans.  It  is 
a  scene  that  we  contemplate  long  and  rapturously 
and  which  on  a  later  trip  to  San  Diego  we  go  to 
view  again. 

As  we  returned  to  the  city  some  evil  genius 
directed  our  attention  to  a  sign-board  pointing  to  a 
little  byroad  down  the  cliff  but  a  short  distance  from 

121 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

the  lighthouse  and  bearing  the  legend,  "To  Fort 
Rosecrans."  We  wished  to  see  Fort  Rosecrans  and 
decided  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  handy  short  cut  so 
opportunely  discovered,  and  soon  found  ourselves 
descending  the  roughest,  steepest  grade  we  found 
in  California.  A  mere  shelf  scarce  six  inches  w^ider 
than  our  car  ran  along  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  which 
seemingly  dropped  sheer  to  the  ocean  far  beneath. 
The  grade  must  have  been  at  least  twenty-five  per 
cent  and  the  road  zigzagged  downward  around  the 
corners  that  brought  our  front  wheels  to  the  verge 
of  the  precipice  at  the  turns.  Both  brakes  and  the 
engine  w^ere  brought  into  service  and  as  a  matter  of 
precaution  the  ladies  dismounted  from  the  car.  We 
should  have  been  only  too  glad  to  retreat,  but  could 
do  nothing  but  keep  on,  creeping  downward, 
hoping  fervently  that  we  might  not  meet  a  vehicle 
on  the  way.  At  last  the  road  came  out  on  the  beach 
and  we  drove  into  the  main  street  of  the  village  near 
the  fort,  where  people  stared  at  us  in  a  fashion 
indicating  that  few  automobiles  came  by  the  route 
we  had  followed. 

There  was  little  to  see  at  Fort  Rosecrans  and 
our  nerves  w^ere  too  badly  shaken  to  leave  room 
for  curiosity,  anyway.  We  went  on  into  the  main 
highway,  resolving  to  be  more  cautious  about  short 
cuts  in  the  future.  When  we  came  again  to  Point 
Loma  some  months  later,  the  sign  that  led  us  down 
the  cliff  had  been  replaced  with  a  mandate  of 
"Closed  to  autos,"  and  we  wondered  if  we  were 
responsible  for  the  change! 

On  this  latter  trip  we  paused  before  the  Roman 
gateway  of  the  Theosophical  Institute  and  asked 

122 


ROUND  ABOUT  SAN  DIEGO 

permission  to  enter,  which  was  readily  given  for  a 
small  consideration.  Autos  are  not  admitted  to  the 
grounds  and  we  left  our  car  by  the  roadside,  making 
the  ascent  on  foot.  As  we  came  near  the  myster- 
ious, glass-domed  building,  we  met  a  studious 
young  man  in  a  light  tan  uniform  and  broad- 
brimmed  felt  hat,  apparently  deeply  absorbed  in  a 
book  as  he  paced  to  and  fro.  To  our  inquiries  for 
a  guide  he  responded  courteously,  "I  will  serve  you 
with  pleasure  myself,"  and  conducted  us  about  the 
magnificent  grounds.  In  the  meanwhile  he  took 
occasion  to  enlighten  us  on  the  aims  and  tenets  of 
his  cult. 

"Many  people,"  he  said,  "think  that  there  is 
something  occult  or  mysterious  about  the  Institute, 
but  the  fact  is  that  it  is  a  school  open  to  everyone 
under  twenty-one  who  will  comply  with  our  regula- 
tions. We  prefer  to  take  young  children  and  train 
them  from  the  very  beginning,  which  our  experi- 
enced teachers  and  nurses  can  do  better  than  their 
mothers,"  but  noticing  the  looks  of  indignant  pro- 
test which  came  to  the  faces  of  the  ladies  of  our 
party,  he  quickly  qualified  his  statement  with — 
perhaps. 

"The  tuition,"  he  went  on,'  "is  a  thousand 
dollars  per  year,  which  includes  everything — and 
the  pupils  never  leave  these  grounds  until  they  have 
completed  our  course.  Thorough  education  is  our 
first  object;  doctrine  is  secondary — we  do  not  even 
ask  them  to  accept  our  tenets  unless  they  wish  to 
do  so.  There  is  nothing  secret  or  occult  about  our 
institution;  we  do  not  keep  the  public  from  our 
buildings  because  of  anything  mysterious  there,  but 

123 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

because  sightseers  would  interfere  with  the  work. 
We  have  more  than  three  hundred  children  in  the 
schools  at  present  and  in  some  cases  their  parents 
live  in  the  houses  on  our  grounds.  No,  it  is  not  a 
'community'  in  any  sense  of  the  w^ord,  and  the 
statement  often  made  that  people  who  join  w^ith 
us  must  give  us  their  property  and  surrender  them- 
selves to  our  control,  is  absolutely  false.  There  is 
no  time  to  tell  you  of  our  peculiar  teachings,  but 
you  will  receive  booklets  at  the  gate-house  that  will 
enlighten  you  on  them.  Reincarnation,  as  you 
would  style  it,  is  one  of  our  fundamentals  and 
Katherine  Tingley,  who  founded  the  Institute,  is 
from  our  point  of  view  the  spiritual  successor  of 
the  famous  Russian  teacher,  Madame  Blavatsky." 
I  was  surprised  to  learn  later  that  the  foundress  of 
the  cult,  despite  her  obviously  Russian  name,  was 
an  English  woman  by  birth.  She  was  a  famous 
world  traveler  and  on  one  of  her  journeys  married 
a  Russian  nobleman.  One  must  admit,  I  am  bound 
to  say,  that  her  published  works  show  an  astounding 
amount  of  research  and  curious  knowledge,  what- 
ever we  may  think  of  her  doctrines. 

Regardless  of  our  attitude  on  Mrs.  Tingley's 
teachings  and  beliefs,  one  can  not  question  her 
soundness  and  success  in  a  business  and  aesthetic 
way.  Everything  about  the  establishment  speaks 
of  prosperity  and  it  would  be  hard  to  imagine  more 
beautiful  and  pleasing  surroundings.  The  build- 
ings are  mainly  of  oriental  design,  solidly  built  and 
fitting  well  into  the  general  plan  of  the  grounds. 
Among  them  is  a  beautiful  Greek  theatre  where 
plays  open  to  the  public  are  sometimes  given.    The 

124 


ROUND  ABOUT  SAN  DIEGO 

grounds  evince  the  skill  of  the  landscape-gardener 
and  scrupulous  care  on  part  of  those  who  have  them 
in  charge.  Flov^ers  bloom  in  profusion  and  a 
double  row  of  palms  runs  along  the  seaward 
edge  of  the  hill.  Through  these  gleams  the 
calm  deep  blue  of  the  ocean,  which  seldom 
changes,  for  there  are  but  few  stormy  or  gloomy- 
days  on  Point  Loma.  The  outlook  to  the  landward 
is  much  the  same  as  we  beheld  from  the  old  light- 
house— a  panorama  of  green  hills  and  mountain 
ranges,  stretching  away  to  the  snow-capped  peaks 
of  San  Bernardino,  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  distant.  It  is  a  glorious  spot,  well  calculated 
to  lend  glamour  to  the — to  our  notion — fantastical 
doctrines  of  the  cult  which  makes  its  headquarters 
here.  Indeed,  my  friend — ^whose  religious  ideas 
are  in  a  somewhat  fluid  state — was  deeply  im- 
pressed and  after  reading  the  pamphlets  which  we 
received  on  leaving,  intimated  that  the  doctrines  of 
Theosophy  looked  mighty  good  to  him — though  I 
believe  this  is  as  far  as  he  ever  got  in  the  faith. 


125 


VII 

THE    IMPERIAL    VALLEY    AND    THE    SAN 
DIEGO  BACK  COUNTRY 

The  infinite  variety  of  California  will  be  more 
and  more  impressed  upon  the  tourist  as  his  travels 
take  him  farther  from  the  beaten  track.  It  is,  truly, 
a  land  of  contrasts;  and  only  one  who  goes  from 
the  green  valley  of  the  Sacramento  to  the  arid  sands 
of  the  Imperial  Desert  w^ill  know^  how  sharply 
marked  the  contrasts  may  be.  The  former  will 
remind  him  not  a  little  of  the  green  and  prosperous 
farm  lands  of  the  Middle  West  and  the  agricultural 
methods  pursued  are  not  widely  dissimilar,  but 
where  else  in  the  world  can  a  parallel  be  found  for 
the  strange  valley  that  lies  beyond  the  rugged  moun- 
tain ranges  eastward  from  San  Diego? 

Twenty-five  years  ago  this  weird,  sun-blistered 
desert  seemed  the  most  unlikely  spot  on  earth  to 
become  a  place  of  incredibly  productive  farms  and 
thriving  towns.  The  arid  bed  of  a  long-vanished 
inland  sea,  lying  from  a  few  inches  to  three  hun- 
dred feet  below  sea  level,  with  a  temperature  vary- 
ing up  to  one  hundred  and  thirty  degrees  in  sum- 
mer and  less  than  an  inch  of  annual  rainfall,  surely 
gave  little  promise  of  ever  becoming  an  agricultural 
bonanza.  It  was  even  more  typically  a  desert,  says 
one  authority,  than  any  part  of  the  Sahara  of  which 
we  have  record.     To  the  ordinary  layman  passing 

through   on  the   Southern  Pacific,   nothing  would 

126 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

have  seemed  farther  from  the  range  of  possibility 
than  that  this  counterpart  of  Death  Valley  should 
ever  become  a  green  and  fertile  land. 

There  were,  however,  a  few  thoughtful  pio- 
neers who  knew  of  the  possibilities  of  the  desert 
when  water  could  be  brought  to  it  and  who  were 
aware  that  within  a  comparatively  short  distance 
the  great  Colorado  River  coursed  through  its 
channel  at  an  altitude  higher  than  the  floor  of  the 
Valley.  Here  was  water,  practically  unlimited, 
w^hich  needed  only  direction  into  an  irrigating  sys- 
tem to  change  the  desert's  sandy  wastes  into  fertile 
fields.  Dr.  Wozencroft  of  San  Bernardino  was  the 
first  to  take  practical  steps  towards  this  great  work, 
about  fifty  years  ago.  He  endeavored  to  obtain 
from  Congress  a  grant  of  land  upon  which  he  might 
carry  out  his  project,  but  the  idea  was  not  taken 
seriously  by  the  lawmakers,  who  dismissed  it  with 
a  few  jocular  flings  at  the  promoter's  expense.  The 
experts  declared  the  plan  not  impractical,  but  the 
politicians  could  not  be  induced  to  take  favorable 
action  upon  it.  The  immediate  outcome  was  that 
the  enthusiastic  promoter  lost  his  fortune  in  his 
fruitless  efforts  and  died  a  disappointed  man,  but 
he  had  directed  public  attention  to  the  possibility 
of  reclaiming  the  Valley  and  various  attempts  were 
made  by  others  to  carry  out  his  plans. 

No  considerable  headway  was  made  until  the 
organization  of  the  California  Development  Com- 
pany in  1 896  for  the  purpose  of  reclaiming  what 
was  then  first  styled  the  Imperial  Valley.  This 
was  a  water  corporation  whose  purpose  was  to  con- 
struct an  irrigating  system  to  serve  some  five  hun- 

127 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

dred  thousand  acres  of  desert  land  then  open  to 
occupation  by  settlers  under  the  national  homestead 
acts.  The  profits  of  the  company  were  to  come 
from  the  sale  of  water  service,  since  it  did  not  own 
or  control  the  land.  The  contour  of  the  country 
made  it  necessary  to  bring  the  main  supply  canal 
through  Mexican  territory  for  a  distance  of  forty 
or  fifty  miles,  and  the  canal  now  serves  some  two 
hundred  thousand  acres  in  Mexico.  An  old  river 
bed  which  resulted  from  an  overflow  many  years 
ago  carried  the  water  a  considerable  part  of  the 
distance  and  greatly  minimized  the  labor  necessary 
to  complete  the  canal.  Still,  it  was  a  stupendous 
task,  requiring  several  years'  time  and  a  large  ex- 
penditure of  money.  The  seepage  and  overflow 
from  the  irrigating  system  was  to  be  conveyed  to 
the  lowest  part  of  the  Valley,  the  Salton  Basin,  now 
occupied  by  the  Salton  Sea,  a  shallow  lake  two  or 
three  hundred  square  miles  in  extent. 

This  lake  originated  in  a  sensational  manner, 
which  engaged  the  attention  of  the  country  for 
many  months.  During  the  summer  of  1904  the 
development  company  undertook  to  increase  the 
supply  of  water  from  the  Colorado  by  cutting  a 
new  outlet  which  was  to  be  controlled  by  flood 
gates.  Before  the  work  was  completed  an  unprec- 
edented rise  washed  away  the  controlling  works 
and  threatened  to  turn  the  whole  volume  of  the 
river  into  the  Valley.  A  tremendous  channel  was 
soon  torn  in  the  sands  by  the  raging  flood — which 
was  known  as  New  River — and  the  waters  coursed 
through  the  Valley  to  Salton  Basin,  which  filled 
rapidly.     Efforts  made  by  the  company  to  check 

128 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

the  torrent  were  without  avail ;  its  means  and  facil- 
ities w^ere  too  limited  to  cope  w^ith  the  serious  sit- 
uation. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  existence  of  the  Valley, 
with  its  farms  and  towns,  was  threatened;  if  un- 
checked, the  flood  w^ould  eventually  restore  the 
inland  sea  that  filled  the  basin  in  prehistoric  times. 
The  settlers  were  greatly  alarmed  and  appealed  to 
the  Government  for  assistance.  Congress  was  not 
in  session  and  President  Roosevelt,  with  character- 
istic resourcefulness,  called  upon  the  Southern 
Pacific  Railroad  Company  to  undertake  the  task  of 
curbing  the  river,  assuring  the  officials  of  the  road 
that  he  would  recommend  an  appropriation  by  Con- 
gress to  reimburse  them  for  money  expended  in 
the  work.  The  railroad  company  consented  and 
after  several  months  of  almost  superhuman  effort 
and  an  expenditure  of  two  million  dollars,  the  flood 
was  curbed  and  the  vast  empty  chasm  of  New  River 
left  to  tell  the  story  of  its  wild  fury. 

But  Congress  refused  to  make  the  appropri- 
ation and  the  Southern  Pacific  "held  the  sack"  for 
the  enormous  sum  spent  in  protecting  the  Valley. 
The  people  likewise  declined  to  issue  bonds  to  re- 
imburse the  railroad  company,  which  considered 
itself  the  victim  of  bad  faith  on  part  of  both  the 
Government  and  the  citizens  of  the  Valley.  We 
heard  an  echo  of  the  controversy  when  we  visited 
El  Centro— another  break  was  imminent  on  ac- 
count of  high  water  in  the  Colorado  and  the  railroad 
was  called  upon  for  assistance.  The  officials  noti- 
fied the  owners  of  the  threatened  lands  that  when 
a  sufficient  sum  of  money  to  guarantee  the  cost  of 

129 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

the  work  was  deposited  in  a  Los  Angeles  bank,  they 
w^ould  hurry  a  force  to  the  scene  of  the  trouble — 
and  the  cash  w^as  forthcoming  without  delay. 

The  story  of  the  flood  forms  the  f ramew^ork  of 
Harold  Bell  Wright's  recent  novel,  "The  Winning 
of  Barbara  Worth,"  and  while  the  narrative  does 
not  by  any  means  adhere  to  historic  fact,  it  has 
served  to  bring  the  Imperial  Valley  to  the  attention 
of  many  a  reader  who  had  scarcely  heard  of  it  be- 
fore. 

Prosperity  has  usually  prevailed  in  the  Valley ; 
money  has  been  made  so  easily  and  surely  that  the 
disadvantage  of  the  climate  w^as  readily  overlooked 
by  the  inhabitants,  many  of  w^hom  actually  profess 
to  enjoy  it.  But  a  climate  that  is  hot  in  winter  and 
superheated  in  summer,  rainless,  and  w^ith  almost 
incessant  high  winds  that  stir  up  clouds  of  dust  and 
occasional  sand  storms,  has  its  drawbacks,  w^e  must 
admit.  Rainfall,  however,  is  neither  needed  nor 
wanted.  The  farmer  turns  the  water  on  at  the 
proper  time  and  there  need  be  no  excessive  moisture 
or  protracted  drought. 

Under  such  conditions  the  productiveness  of 
the  land  is  almost  incredible.  Six  or  eight  heavy 
crops  of  alfalfa  are  harvested  from  a  single  field 
during  the  year.  Barley,  oats,  and  other  small 
grains  flourish  and  at  present  are  cut  mostly  for 
forage.  Cotton,  under  normal  conditions,  is  the 
most  valuable  crop,  about  one  hundred  and  forty 
thousand  acres  being  planted  in  1  920,  with  an  esti- 
mated value  of  $25,000,000.  The  quality  rivals 
the  sea-island  product  and  the  yield  is  large,  aver- 
aging more  than  a  bale  to  the  acre.    Vegetables  and 

130 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

berries  flourish  in  endless  variety  and  truck-garden- 
ing for  the  Los  Angeles  and  San  Diego  markets  is 
profitable  because  the  season  for  everything  is  ahead 
of  the  rest  of  California.  Citrus  fruits  of  finest 
quality  thrive  wonderfully,  but  as  yet  httle  has  been 
done  in  orchard-planting.  Figs  are  readily  grown 
and  it  is  said  that  the  date  palm  will  flourish  and 
produce  an  excellent  quality  of  fruit  in  the  Imperial 
though  it  has  not  been  a  success  elsewhere  in  Cali- 
fornia. Cattle-raising  and  dairying  are  leading  in- 
dustries— the  butter  product  alone  is  w^orth  several 
million  dollars  yearly.  Taking  the  country  over, 
however,  the  Imperial  Valley  is  probably  more  fa- 
mous for  its  cantaloupes  than  for  any  other  single 
product.  Each  year  it  produces  several  thousand 
cars  of  this  succulent  melon  and  they  are  on  the 
market  from  Boston  to  San  Francisco  before  the 
Rocky  Fords  are  in  blossom. 

Until  quite  recently  the  Valley  could  be 
reached  only  by  the  main  line  and  branches  of  the 
Southern  Pacific  Railroad  and  by  one  or  two  in- 
ferior wagon  trails  which  meandered  through  the 
great  hills  and  over  the  sands.  The  desirability  of 
a  motor  highway  led  the  business  men  of  San  Diego 
to  raise  by  subscription  sufficient  funds  to  complete 
the  road  through  the  mountains  from  Mountain 
Spring  on  the  San  Diego  County  line  to  the  floor 
of  the  Valley,  where  it  continues  for  a  dozen  miles 
through  sands  not  quite  heavy  enough  to  stop 
progress  if  one  keeps  on  the  beaten  trail.  Beyond 
Coyote  Wells  an  attempt  had  been  made  to  im- 
prove the  road  by  freely  oiling  the  sand.  The  older 
portion  was  broken  and  rough,  though  for  some 

131 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

distance  out  of  Dixieland  there  is  as  fine  a  boule- 
vard as  one  could  wish.  In  San  Diego  County  the 
stage  road  is  part  of  the  magnificent  new  highway 
system,  of  which  I  shall  have  more  to  say  later. 

Another  highway  to  the  Valley  comes  down 
from  San  Bernardino  through  Beaumont,  Banning, 
Palm  Springs  and  Indio,  continuing  along  the  north- 
ern side  of  the  Salton  Sea  to  Brawley.  Pavement 
of  this  road  is  now  so  w^ell  advanced  that  it  will 
very  likely  be  completed  by  the  time  this  book 
comes  from  the  press.  In  any  event,  it  will  be  so 
nearly  finished  that  this  run,  once  the  terror  of 
motorists,  can  be  made  easily  and  comfortably,  and, 
revealing  as  it  does  so  many  interesting  phases  of 
California,  it  is  sure  to  be  immensely  popular.  The 
new^  route  misses  by  a  few  miles  the  towns  of 
Coachella  and  Mecca,  but  these  may  be  reached  by 
a  detour  over  the  old  road  if  any  one's  interest  is 
strong  enough  to  lead  him  from  the  comforts  of  the 
new  pavement.  Palm  Springs,  however,  will  surely 
claim  a  pause  for  lunch  at  the  well-ordered  Desert 
Inn  and  a  visit  to  Palm  Canyon,  a  few  miles  away. 
Here  w^e  may  see  the  palm  in  its  native  state  and 
some  authorities  assert  that  these  palms  are  the  pro- 
genitors of  this  particular  species  in  California.  The 
larger  ones  are  several  centuries  old,  and  there  is 
an  Indian  tradition  that  they  provided  seed  for  the 
palms  planted  by  the  Mission  fathers. 

The   canyon   itself  would  be  worth   visiting, 

even  without  the  added  interest  of  the  palms.     It  is 

a  rugged  ravine  several  hundred  feet  deep,  with  a 

clear  stream  rippling  among  boulders  or  losing  itself 

beneath  the  tangled  undergrowth.     It  is  about  six- 

132 


PALM  CANYON 
From    Original    Painting-    by    H.    H.    Bagg 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

teen  miles  in  length,  and  the  palms  extend  the  entire 
distance,  ranging  from  scattered  sentinels  to  jungle- 
like thickets.  Some  of  them  are  perhaps  one  hun- 
dred feet  high.  The  trunks  of  the  larger  ones  are 
blackened  by  fire,  due  to  the  practice  of  the  Indians 
in  building  fires  around  them  to  cause  the  fall  of 
the  seeds,  which  they  consider  a  great  delicacy. 
Strange  to  say,  the  palms  seemed  none  the  worse 
for  this  severe  treatment.  They  did  not  endure  so 
well  the  onslaught  of  a  moving-picture  outfit  which, 
to  make  a  sensational  scene,  blew  up  some  of  the 
rocks  and  palms  with  dynamite.  There  w^as  an  in- 
sistent demand  for  punishing  these  vandals,  which 
w^e  hope  attained  its  end.  One  can  drive  to  the 
edge  of  the  canyon  and  from  an  elevated  point  get 
a  very  good  general  view,  but  most  visitors  will 
wish  to  make  the  descent  and  proceed  a  greater  or 
less  distance  up  the  gorge  on  foot. 

From  Palm  Springs  to  El  Centro  is  an  easy 
day's  run,  allowing  time  for  a  visit  to  the  date  plan- 
tations of  the  Coachella  Valley,  where  Arabian  date 
palms  have  been  imported  and  successfully  culti- 
vated, producing  fruit  superior  and  more  valuable 
than  the  imported  article.  For  some  miles  this  road 
runs  in  sight  of  the  Salton  Sea,  a  remarkable  body 
of  water  about  twenty-five  miles  long  by  ten  in 
width,  lying  more  than  two  hundred  feet  below  the 
sea  level. 

The  standard  motor  route  from  San  Diego  to 
El  Centro — the  capital  of  the  Valley — runs  by  the 
way  of  the  Potrero  grade  through  the  tiny  villages 
of  Jamul  and  Dulzura.  One  does  not  have  to  own 
a  car — or  even  to  hire  one — to  motor  in  state  over 

133 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

this  wonderful  highway,  for  a  half  dozen  automo- 
bile stages  make  the  trip  each  way  daily,  the  fare 
averaging  about  five  dollars  for  the  one  hundred 
and  twenty  miles. 

An  alternate  road  as  far  as  Campo,  about  forty 
miles  from  San  Diego,  goes  by  the  way  of  Lakeside 
and  Descanso  and  takes  one  through  some  of  the 
most  picturesque  hills  and  vales  of  the  "Back  Coun- 
try." It  is  nearly  twenty  miles  longer  than  the 
stage  road,  but  it  has  no  serious  grades  and  has  been 
designated  as  the  route  of  the  new  state  highway. 
We  found  it  well  improved  as  far  as  Lakeside,  but 
beyond  it  became  a  winding  trail,  meandering 
through  canyons  heavily  wooded  with  oak  and 
sycamore. 

On  the  recommendation  of  a  fellow-motorist 
just  returned  from  the  Imperial  we  chose  this  route 
on  our  outward  trip.  We  left  San  Diego  about  ten 
o'clock,  advertising  our  destination  to  the  public 
generally  by  the  five-gallon  canvas  water-bag  that 
dangled  from  our  car.  Most  cars  for  the  desert 
carry  this  useful  adjunct  and  there  are  conceivable 
predicaments  w^here  it  might  be  very  serviceable. 
Beyond  Lakeside  we  entered  the  hills  and  saw  much 
delightfully  picturesque  scenery,  though  the  coun- 
try seemed  likely  never  to  be  of  great  value  to  man- 
kind except  for  scenic  beauty.  There  were  one  or 
two  villages  and  occasional  ranch-houses  in  the 
cultivated  spots  in  the  valleys,  but  the  rugged  hills 
rising  on  every  hand  gave  little  promise  of  future 
productiveness.  This  section  is  already  famous  as 
a  vacation  resort  and  several  of  the  ranchers  are 
prepared  for  campers  and  summer  boarders.     Many 

134 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

of  these  ranches  are  ideally  located  in  grassy,  tree- 
fringed  vales  watered  by  clear  mountain  streams. 
The  coming  of  the  state  highway  will  bring  pros- 
perity to  these  villagers  and  resorts  and  greatly 
assist  in  the  development  of  the  scanty  resources 
of  the  country.  The  Viejas  grade  near  Descanso 
is  the  only  considerable  ascent  and  this  is  easy  and 
well-improved. 

At  Campo  w^e  came  into  the  stage  road  and 
pursued  our  way  for  some  miles  through  rolling, 
oak-studded  hills.     A  band  of  gypsies  camped  by 
the  roadside  stopped  us  with  many  gesticulations 
and  were  immensely  disgusted  when  we  declined 
to  wait  for  fortune-telling.     They  presented  a  pic- 
turesque sight  in  their  brightly  colored,   oriental- 
looking  costumes  and  at  a  distance  some  of  the 
women  looked  pretty — though  as  they  crowded  up 
to  the  car  a  near  view  quickly  dispelled  this  illusion. 
Warren's  Ranch,  a  few  miles  beyond  Campo, 
is  the  regular  stopping-place  in  both  directions  for 
luncheon,  and  a  substantial  farm  dinner  is  served 
at   a   moderate   price.      There   were   perhaps   fifty 
guests  on  the  day  of  our  visit  and  the  proprietor 
said  that  it  was  a  "little  slack"  as  compared  with 
the  usual  run  of  travel;  that  on  the  previous  Sun- 
day one  hundred  and  twenty  cars  had  passed  and 
most  of  them  halted  at  the  ranch  for  refreshments. 
A  few  miles  beyond  Warren's  we  entered  the 
great  hill  range  that  cuts  the  Valley  from  the  coast 
and  jogged  up  the  splendidly  engineered  road  with 
little  effort.      We  saw  some  wild,   rough  scenery 
during  the  climb,  but  nothing  to  prepare  us  for  the 

stupendous  spectacle  that  burst  on  our  vision  as 

135 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

we  reached  the  summit.     It  would  be  no  exagger- 
ation to  say  that  we  fairly  gasped  with  astonish- 
ment as  we  brought  the  car  sharply  to  a  stand-still, 
for  beneath  us  lay  a  vast  abysm  that  reminded  us 
more  of  the  Grand  Canyon  than  anything  else  w^e 
had  seen.      It  seemed  as  if  the  red  granite  moun- 
tains had  been  rent  in  twain  by  some  terrific  cata- 
clysm, leaving  a  titanic  chasm  stretching  away  until 
lost  in  the  purple  haze  of  the  distance.     Its  walls 
were  bare — save  for  an  occasional  cactus — and  the 
reddish  tinge  of  the  granite  was  intensified  in  the 
declining  sun.      The   great  boulders   tumbled  dis- 
cordantly about,  the  isolated  peaks  springing  from 
the  floor  of  the  canyon,  and  the  endless  array  of 
mighty  cliffs  and  precipices  all  combined  to  give  a 
rare  effect  of  wild  and  rugged  grandeur.     As  we 
descended  the  w^inding  road  we  saw^  the  majestic 
spectacle  from  many  viewpoints,  each  one  accen- 
tuating some  new  phase  of  its  impressive  beauty. 
At  Mountain  Spring,  a  supply  station  just  be- 
yond the  summit,  we  crossed  into  Imperial  County. 
From  this  point  the  road  was  built  by  popular  sub- 
scription  and   a   wonderful   road   it   is.      It   winds 
around  the  great  precipices,  which  rise  far  above  or 
drop  hundreds  of  feet  below,  and  crosses  yawning 
canyons,  yet  it  maintains  easy  grades  and  avoids 
difficult  turns  to  an  extent  seldom  seen  under  such 
conditions.     The  smooth  wide  surface  offers  temp- 
tations to  careless  drivers  and  despite  the  perfect 
engineering  several  accidents  have  happened  on  the 
road.     A  car  went  off  the  grade  shortly  before  our 
passing  and  a  collision  occurred  near  the  summit 
on  the  following  day. 

136 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

At  the  foot  of  the  grade  we  encountered  the 
sandy  wash  leading  down  into  the  valley.  For 
several  miles  we  fairly  wallowed  through  heavy 
sand,  the  car  pitching  and  rolHng  like  a  boat  on  a 
rough  sea.  Had  the  sand  been  an  inch  deeper — 
so  it  seemed — we  should  have  been  hopelessly 
stalled — a  fate  which  often  overtakes  a  car  depart- 
ing from  the  beaten  track.  We  scrambled  along 
with  steaming  engine  and  growling  gears  and  were 
glad  indeed  when  a  forlorn  little  ranch-house  hove 
in  sight.  A  windmill  tower  indicated  water  and  we 
took  occasion  to  replenish  our  supply. 

Coyote  Wells  shows  on  the  map  as  a  post 
office,  but  our  conception  of  a  village  was  dashed 
as  w^e  approached  the  spot  by  the  tiny  clapboard 
shack  w^hich  greeted  our  sand-bleared  vision.  A 
rudely  painted  sign,  "General  Store,  Gasoline  and 
Oil,"  apprised  us  of  the  chief  excuse  for  the  exist- 
ence of  Coyote  Wells.  The  wells  are  there,  too; 
eleven  feet  under  the  burning  sands  is  an  unlimited 
supply  of  water.  We  paused  a  few  minutes  and 
looked  around  us — which  we  had  scarcely  done 
before,  the  plunging  car  and  the  clouds  of  sand 
driven  by  a  forty-mile  wind  being  quite  enough  to 
distract  our  attention.  In  every  direction  stretched 
the  yellow  sands,  dotted  with  sage  brush  and  cacti. 
Some  of  the  latter  were  in  bloom,  their  delicate 
blossoms,  yellow,  carmine,  and  pink,  lending  a 
pleasing  bit  of  color  to  the  drab  monotone  of  the 
landscape.  And  yet  we  were  told  that  this  sandy 
waste  needs  only  water  to  metamorphose  it  into 
green  fields  such  as  we  should  see  a  little  later. 

A  few  miles  beyond  Coyote  Wells  the  road 

137 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

had  been  oiled,  but  it  had  broken  into  chuck-holes 
and  become  unmercifully  rough.  It  was  not  until 
we  entered  the  confines  of  the  cultivated  lands  a 
short  distance  from  Dixieland  that  we  found  a  fine 
boulevard,  which  continued  for  several  miles. 
Dixieland  is  the  western  outpost  of  the  Valley, 
situated  in  the  edge  of  the  present  irrigation  district. 
It  is  a  substantially  built  village,  most  of  the  busi- 
ness houses  being  of  brick  and  cement.  The  com- 
ing of  the  new  railroad,  already  within  a  few  miles, 
will  probably  bring  a  great  boom  for  Dixieland. 

A  paragraph  may  be  fitly  introduced  here  con- 
cerning the  present  status  (  I  92 1  )  of  the  roads  we 
traversed  on  our  tour  to  the  Imperial  some  six  years 
earlier.     The  most  trying  sections  have  been  im- 
proved; the  heavy  sand  where  we  wallowed  about 
so  helplessly  and  the  broken,  oiled  road  between 
Dixieland  and  Coyote  Wells — in  fact,   the  w^hole 
stretch  between  the  foot  of  the  mountain  grade  and 
EI  Centro — is  a  first-class  boulevard  now.     There 
is  also  pavement  from  Campo  to  the  summit  of  the 
range,  and  the  descent,  while  not  paved,  is  in  good 
condition.     Only  a  fraction  of  the  two  routes  we 
pursued  in  San  Diego  County — the  northern,  via 
Descanso,  and  the  southern  over  the  Potrero  grade 
— has  been  paved,  but  the  funds  for  this  work  have 
been  provided  and  it  is  to  proceed  as  rapidly  as  pos- 
sible.    Taken  altogether,  the  roads  to-day  average 
good  and  the  run  between  San  Diego  and  EI  Centro 
may  be  easily  made  by  the  shorter  of  the  routes 
(122  miles)  in  five  or  six  hours. 

While  bowling  along  just  beyond  Dixieland 
one  of  our  party  cried,  "Look  at  the  sunset!"  and 

138 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

we  brought  the  car  to  a  sudden  stop.  I  have  seen 
gorgeous  sunsets  in  many  parts  of  the  world,  but 
nothing  that  could  remotely  approach  the  splendor 
of  the  scene  that  greeted  our  admiring  vision.  The 
sky  was  partly  clouded — rather  unusual,  we  learned 
— and  this  accounted  for  much  of  the  glorious 
spectacle.  The  w^hole  dome  of  the  heavens  showed 
a  marvelous  display  of  light  and  color — lucent  sil- 
ver slowly  changing  through  many  variations  to 
deep  orange-gold,  and  fading  slowly  to  burnished 
copper  as  the  sun  declined.  The  clouds  lent  end- 
less variety  to  the  color  tones.  Their  fantastic 
shapes  glowed  with  burning  crimson  or  were  edged 
w^ith  silvery  light.  The  sky  eastward  was  of  a  deep 
indigo-blue;  westward,  above  the  sun,  it  burned 
v/ith  ethereal  fire.  The  summits  of  the  dimly  de- 
fined mountains  in  the  distance  w^ere  touched  with 
a  fringe  of  golden  light  and  their  feet  were  shrouded 
in  a  pale  lavender  haze — the  effect  of  the  sun  on  the 
drifting  sand.  The  weird  and  ghostly  appearance 
of  the  Superstition  Range,  a  dozen  miles  to  the 
north,  seemed  suggestive  of  the  name.  Surely  the 
desert  gnomes  and  demons  might  find  a  haunt  in 
the  rocky  caverns  of  these  giant  hills  set  down  in 
the  wide  arid  plain  surrounding  them  on  every  side. 
The  more  distant  mountains  faded  to  dim  and  un- 
substantial shadows  and  were  finally  obscured  by 
the  falling  twilight. 

When  we  were  able  to  take  our  gaze  from  the 
heavens  we  became  conscious  of  the  marvelous 
greenness  of  the  grain  and  alfalfa  fields  about  us, 
then  accentuated  by  the  weird  light  of  the  sunset, 

and  w^e  learned  later  the  scientific  cause  of  the  gor- 

139 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

geous  Imperial  sunsets.  Evaporation  from  the  ir- 
rigation system  and  Salton  Sea,  together  with  the 
fine  dust  constantly  in  suspension  in  the  dry  desert 
air,  are  the  elements  responsible  for  spectacular  ef- 
fects such  as  I  have  tried  to  describe. 

A  half  dozen  miles  from  Dixieland  we  crossed 
New  River,  a  great  gulch  twenty-five  feet  deep  and 
several  hundred  yards  wide.  This  was  the  channel 
cut  by  the  terrible  flood  of  1  904-6  and  gives  some 
conception  of  the  danger  that  threatened  the  Valley 
when  practically  the  whole  volume  of  the  Colorado 
tore  through  the  yielding  sands.  There  is  now  no 
running  water  in  the  river,  the  road  crossing  on  its 
dry  bed. 

The  roads  throughout  the  Valley  are  generally 
unimproved  and  a  clever  plan  has  been  adopted  to 
keep  down  the  dust,  w^hich  w^ould  become  almost 
unbearable  in  this  rainless  region.  The  wide  road- 
w^ays  are  divided  in  the  center  by  a  ridge  of  earth; 
and  the  sides  are  alternately  flooded  with  water 
from  the  irrigating  ditches,  a  plan  w^hich  keeps  the 
dust  pretty  well  in  control.  But  woe  to  the  motor- 
ist who  attempts  to  drive  across  a  "w^et  spot"  before 
the  road  has  thoroughly  dried — the  soil  usually  par- 
takes of  the  nature  of  quicksand;  the  car  speedily 
settles  to  the  running  boards  and  a  stout  team  is 
about  the  only  remedy  for  the  predicament. 

We  reached  El  Centro  after  dusk  and  repaired 
to  the  Oregon  Hotel,  a  fairly  comfortable  inn, 
though  not  good  enough  to  satisfy  the  ambitions  of 
this  live  town,  for  the  Barbara  Worth,  a  hundred- 
thousand-dollar  steel-and-concrete  structure,  was 
building.     El  Centro  has  a  population  of  about  six 

140 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

thousand  and  is  a  live  place  commercially,  being 
the  capital  and  banking  center  of  the  Valley.  It  is 
substantially  built  and  we  noted  there  has  been  de- 
veloped a  type  of  architecture  designated  to  miti- 
gate the  intense  heat.  The  business  buildings  have 
arcades  w^ith  balconies  along  the  streets  and  some 
of  the  houses  and  public  buildings  have  double 
roofs.  Every  sign  pointed  to  the  prosperity  of  the 
town  and  it  doubtless  offers  numerous  opportuni- 
ties to  enterprising  business  men. 

A  favorite  trip  out  of  El  Centro  is  to  Calexico, 
eight  miles  distant  on  the  Mexican  frontier,  and  the 
streets  were  thronged  with  Ford  cars  bearing  the 
legend,  "Auto  Stage  to  Calexico."  At  the  time  of 
our  visit,  California  state  troops  occupied  this 
border  town  to  forestall  a  possible  attack  by  the 
Mexican  army  in  Mexicali,  just  across  the  line. 
There  was  considerable  uneasiness  in  the  Imperial 
country  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  canal  carrying 
the  water  supply  passes  through  Mexican  territory. 

This  situation  necessarily  creates  an  element 
of  uncertainty  as  to  the  future  of  the  Valley  and  a 
strong  agitation  is  being  made  for  the  construction 
of  an  all-American  canal.  So  far  little  has  been  ac- 
complished in  this  direction,  owing  to  the  difficult 
terrain  to  be  crossed  and  the  vast  cost  of  such  an 
enterprise.  There  is  a  feeling,  however,  that  such 
a  canal  must  and  will  come  in  time. 

The  country  about  El  Centro  is  typical  of  the 
whole  Valley.  As  a  resident  of  the  town  said, 
"When  you've  seen  one  corner  of  the  Imperial  Val- 
ley you've  seen  all  of  it — a  flat,  sandy  plain  cut  up 
by  irrigation  canals  and  covered  in  the  cultivated 

141 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

parts  with  rank  vegetation  a  good  part  of  the  year/' 
In  the  northern  part  of  the  Valley  new  lands  were 
being  opened  to  the  public  and  Nilands,  a  boom 
town,  had  sprung  up  almost  overnight.  The  "open- 
ing day"  saw  hundreds  of  people  on  hand  eager  to 
purchase  lots  and  many  of  them  came  to  stay,  for 
they  brought  their  household  goods,  which  were 
piled  promiscuously  on  the  sand,  often  without 
even  the  protection  of  a  tent.  The  first  move  of 
the  promoters  was  to  found  a  bank  and  a  newspaper 
and  to  begin  the  erection  of  a  fifty-thousand-dollar 
hotel  and  a  commodious  schoolhouse.  And  so 
Nilands  took  its  place  on  the  map  and  when  the  arid 
sands  about  it  begin  to  produce  it  will  no  doubt  re- 
peat the  history  of  Holtville,  Braw^ley,  and  other 
thriving  Imperial  towns. 

Motorists  who  come  only  on  a  sightseeing  ex- 
cursion will  not  care  to  spend  much  time  in  the 
Valley.  A  round  of  twenty-five  miles  will  take  in 
Imperial  and  Calexico  and  give  a  general  idea  of  the 
thousand  or  more  square  miles  of  reclaimed  desert 
land.  Touring  conditions  are  far  from  pleasant — 
rough  roads,  intense  heat,  and  high  winds  with 
blinding  clouds  of  dust,  being  the  rule.  One  can 
easily  imagine  w^hat  a  commotion  a  fifty-mile  wind 
stirs  up  in  this  dry,  sandy  region,  w^here  it  is  fre- 
quently necessary  to  stop  until  the  dust  blows  away 
in  order  to  see  the  road.  There  is  little  to  vary  the 
monotony  of  the  country,  and  it  is  not  strange  that 
the  average  motorist  is  soon  satisfied  and  longs  for 
the  shady  hills  of  the  San  Diego  "Back  Country." 
And  so,  after  a  hasty  survey,  we  retraced  our  w^ay 

through  the  sands — and  narrowly  missed  "stalling" 

142 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

while  incautiously  passing  a  car  laid  up  for  repairs 
— to  the  mountain  wall  which  shuts  in  the  Valley 
on  the  west. 

I  do  not  remember  of  ever  having  been  in  a 
fiercer  w^ind  than  that  which  sv/ept  down  to  meet  us 
as  w^e  ascended  Mountain  Spring  grade  and  at  the 
summit  it  almost  seemed  as  if  the  w^ild  gusts  would 
sweep  the  car  from  the  road. 

"It  is  sure  some  wind,"  said  a  native  at  the 
little  supply  shack.  "Very  unusual,  too.  I've  been 
in  the  Valley  seven  years  and  never  saw  it  blow  like 
this  before." 

"Very  unusual"  is  the  stock  phrase  of  every 
loyal  Californian  for  any  unpleasant  phenomenon 
of  nature — excessive  rain,  heat,  cold,  fog,  or  wind 
are  all  "very  unusual  '  w^hen  so  marked  as  to  call 
forth  comment  from  the  Eastern  visitor. 

Beyond  Campo  we  followed  the  stage  route  to 
San  Diego — mostly  a  down-hill  coast ;  it  was  scarce- 
ly necessary  to  use  the  engine  on  the  eight  miles 
of  the  Potrero  grade.  This  is  part  of  the  new  San 
Diego  County  system  and  a  wonderful  piece  of 
road  engineering  it  is.  Though  it  skirts  the  edge 
of  the  mountain  from  summit  to  foot,  there  are  no 
steep  pitches  and  but  few  sharp  corners;  even  the 
driver  of  the  car  could  enjoy  the  wonderful  pano- 
ramas visible  during  the  descent.  The  forty  miles 
between  Campo  and  San  Diego  presents  a  series 
of  wooded  hills  and  sylvan  glades  which  more  than 
once  invited  us  to  stop  and  rest  in  the  shade  of  the 
great  oaks  overarching  the  road.  Such  scenes 
made  us  anxious  to  see  more  of  the  famous  "Back 

Country,"  and  when  we  once  entered  on  this  de- 

143 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

lightful  tour  we  were  not  satisfied  until  we  had 
covered  all  the  main  roads  of  the  county. 

From  Del  Mar  on  the  following  day  we  glided 
through  winding  byroads  to  Escondido,  which  we 
had  visited  several  times  previously  in  course  of  our 
rambles.  It  is  a  pretty  little  town  of  two  thousand 
people,  in  the  center  of  a  fertile  valley  exploited  as 
the  "Garden  Spot  of  Southern  California" — a  claim 
which  might  be  quite  correct  if  limited  to  San  Diego 
County.  The  valley  is  seven  hundred  feet  above 
the  sea,  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  rugged  hills  with 
huge  granite  boulders  jutting  from  the  dense  green 
chaparral  that  clothes  their  sides.  It  produces  small 
grain,  alfalfa,  citrus  fruits,  apples,  grapes,  and 
berries  of  all  kinds.  There  is  much  truck-farming 
for  the  San  Diego  markets,  and  cattle  and  sheep 
raising  are  carried  on  to  a  limited  extent. 

Out  of  this  pleasant  valley  w^e  followed  the 
course  of  San  Pasqual  River  toward  Ramona,  and 
recalled  that  in  this  canyon  a  fight  took  place  in 
1  846  between  the  Mexicans  and  Americans  during 
the  wild  dash  of  Kit  Carson's  rangers  to  summon 
aid  from  San  Diego.  The  road  was  a  quiet  one, 
w^inding  among  splendid  trees  and  passing  an  oc- 
casional ranch-house  surrounded  by  fruit  orchards 
in  full  bloom.  Along  the  clear  little  river  were 
grassy  glades  carpeted  with  myriads  of  wild  flowers 
— poppies,  Mariposa  lilies,  primroses,  delicate  blue- 
bells, and  others  nameless  to  us.  Crossing  the  mag- 
nificent San  Pasqual  grade  to  Ramona  w^e  had  a 
glorious  retrospect  down  the  valley.  It  was  typical 
of  a  large  number  of  valleys  in  the  Back  Country 
which  constitute  the  agricultural  resources  of  San 

144 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

Diego  County,  and  we  could  not  help  being  im- 
pressed with  the  small  proportion  that  the  tillable 
land  bears  to  the  rugged  hills.  The  city  of  San 
Diego  can  hardly  base  its  hope  of  greatness  on  the 
country  lying  behind  it — always  excepting  the  Im- 
perial Valley. 

Beyond  Ramona  to  Santa  Ysabel  and  War- 
ner's Hot  Springs  the  characteristics  of  the  country 
were  quite  the  same.    We  pursued  our  way  through 
pleasant  valleys  between  great    oak-studded    hills 
clothed  with  lawnlike  verdure  to  the  very  summit. 
Nowhere  did  we  see  larger  or    more    symmetrical 
oaks  and  in  places  our  road  ran  under  their  over- 
arching branches.      Every  mile  between  Ramona 
and    Warner's    presented    some    phase    of    scenic 
beauty;    the   road   winds   through   virgin   forests, 
courses  through    w^ide,    flower-spangled    meadows 
and  follows  a  clear  stream  for  many  miles.  A  lonely 
ranch-house  occasionally  reminded  us  that  we  were 
still  in  the  confines  of  civilization.     The  only  vil- 
lage, Santa  Ysabel,  is  a  little  supply  station  for  the 
Indian  reservation  of  the  same  name.    The  natives 
here  seemed  prosperous  and  happy  and  we  noticed 
a  little  vine-covered  church    surmounted    by    the 
Catholic  emblem,  which  told  of  their  religious  pref- 
erences. 

Warner's  Hot  Springs  proved  to  be  only  a 
country  store  and  post  office  with  a  dozen  or  two 
adobe  cottages  which  serve  as  guest-rooms.  Sub- 
stantial meals  were  served  in  country  style  in  a  large 
central  dining-hall  and  if  accommodations  were 
primitive,  charges  were  correspondingly  low.  The 
springs  have  a  good  flow  of  mineral-impregnated 

145 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

water  at  a  temperature  of  one  hundred  forty-eight 
degrees  and  strong  claims  are  made  for  their  medi- 
cal properties.  It  is  a  very  quiet,  rural  spot  and 
from  our  cottage  veranda  we  had  a  fine  view  of  the 
sunset  mountains  beyond  the  wide  plain  of  Mesa 
Grande.  The  air  was  vocal  with  the  song  of  birds 
— the  trees  about  our  cabin  were  alive  with  hun- 
dreds of  strawberry  finches. 

They  told  us  that  the  country  about  the  springs 
was  once  a  famous  hunting-ground  and  though 
there  is  still  sport  in  season,  it  does  not  compare 
w^ith  that  of  a  few  years  since.  The  beautiful  Cali- 
fornia quail  are  still  numerous,  but  they  have  be- 
come so  shy  that  it  is  difficult  to  bag  them.  Water 
fowl  are  plentiful  on  the  lakes  of  Warner's  Ranch 
and  deer  and  antelope  may  be  found  in  the  moun- 
tains. Fishing  is  good  in  the  neighboring  streams 
and  these  attractions  bring  many  sportsmen  to 
Warner's  during  the  season. 

For  the  average  motorist,  whose  chief  mission 
is  to  "see  the  country,"  the  attractions  of  the  resort 
will  be  quite  exhausted  in  a  night's  sojourn;  in- 
deed, were  there  a  first-class  hotel  within  easy  reach 
he  might  be  satisfied  with  even  a  shorter  pause. 
There  is  nothing  nearer  northward  than  Hemet, 
fifty  miles  distant,  and  Riverside  is  eighty-five 
miles  away.  There  is  a  direct  road  leading  through 
the  rugged  hills  to  these  points,  a  third  "San  Diego 
route,"  little  used  and  unknown  to  motorists  gener- 
ally. It  goes  by  the  way  of  Oak  Grove  and 
Aguanga — and  the  traveler  is  quite  likely  to  pass 
these  points  in  blissful  ignorance  of  their  existence 
if  he  does  not  keep  a  sharp  lookout.     The  road  is  a 

146 


nOVD    TO    AVAUXKK'S    lU  )T    SPRINGS 
Vrom  Photograph  by  Harold  Taylor 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

mere  trail  winding  through  sandy  river  washes, 
fording  streams  and  finally  taking  to  rugged  hills 
with  many  steep,  rough  grades.  The  signs  of  the 
Southern  California  Auto  Club  will  see  you  safely 
through;  though  there  are  many  places  where  one 
would  be  in  a  sad  quandary  were  it  not  for  their 
friendly  counsel.  The  wild  beauty  of  the  country, 
the  wide  panoramas  from  the  hill  crests,  the  infinite 
variety  and  color  of  the  flowers  along  the  way,  the 
giant  oaks  in  the  canyons,  the  stretches  of  the  desert 
with  cactus  and  scrub  cedar,  the  variegated  mea- 
dows, and  other  interesting  natural  phenomena, 
will  atone  for  the  rough  roads  and  heavy  grades, 
though  it  is  a  trip  that  we  would  hardly  care  to 
make  a  second  time.  Beyond  Hemet  a  perfect 
boulevard  to  Riverside  gave  opportunity  to  make 
up  for  time  lost  in  the  hills. 

Hemet  and  San  Jacinto,  two  clean  little  towns 
about  four  miles  apart,  are  situated  in  a  lovely  val- 
ley beneath  the  snow-crowned  peak  that  gives  its 
name  to  the  latter  village.  Alfalfa  meadows,  grain 
fields  and  fruit  orchards  surround  them  and  give  an 
air  of  peace  and  prosperity  to  the  pleasant  vale. 
But  when  we  visited  the  towns  a  few  years  later, 
most  of  the  brick  buildings  had  been  leveled  to  the 
ground  by  an  earthquake  shock — an  experience  the 
same  places  had  undergone  about  twenty  years 
before.  It  was  a  sad  scene  of  desolation  and  de- 
struction, but  as  the  shock  occurred  on  a  Sunday, 
when  the  brick  buildings  which  suffered  most  were 
unoccupied,  there  was  no  loss  of  life.  It  was  noted 
that  concrete  and  frame  structures  were  little  in- 
jured and  the  towns  have  been  rebuilt  in  such  a 

147 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

manner  as  to  be  nearly  proof,  it  is  believed,  against 
future  quakes. 

But  we  were  not  yet  through  with  the  Back 
Country.  They  told  us  at  Warner's  that  there  w^as 
no  more  beautiful  road  in  the  county  than  the  one 
following  the  San  Luis  Rey  River  between  Pala 
and  Santa  Ysabel.  It  was  closed  by  the  landslide 
at  the  time,  but  a  few^  days  later  we  again  found 
ourselves  in  the  quiet  streets  of  Pala,  intent  on 
making  the  trip.  We  had  come  direct  from  Teme- 
cula  over  the  "big  grade,"  a  little-used  road  across 
the  great  hill  range  between  the  Santa  Margarita 
and  San  Luis  Rey  Valleys.  In  all  our  wanderings 
I  doubt  if  we  found  a  dozen  miles  of  harder  going 
than  our  climb  over  the  Pala  grade.  A  rough,  nar- 
row trail,  badly  washed  by  recent  rains,  twisted 
around  boulders  and  among  giant  trees  and  pitched 
up  and  down  frightful  grades,  often  along  precipi- 
tous slopes.  There  were  several  stony  fords  to  be 
crossed  and  a  wide  stretch  of  heavy  sand  on  the 
western  side  of  the  range.  It  is  a  route  to  be  avoided 
by  people  inclined  to  nervous  qualms  or  w^ho  dislike 
strenuous  mountain  work.  No  wonder  the  regular 
route  to  Pala  runs  by  way  of  Fall  Brook  and  Bon- 
sal,  though  the  distance  is  greater  by  thirty  or  forty 
miles. 

The  San  Luis  Rey  river  road  presented  a  repe- 
tition of  much  scenery  such  as  we  saw  on  our 
Warner's  Hot  Springs  trip.  It  does  not  leave  the 
stream  for  any  considerable  distance,  often  pursu- 
ing its  course  through  a  tangle  of  forest  trees.  At 
times  it  comes  out  into  the  open  and  affords  pic- 
turesque views  of  the  mountains    that    guard    the 

148 


THE  IMPERIAL  VALLEY 

valley  on  either  hand.  A  few  miles  from  Pala  a 
road  branches  off  to  Mount  Palomar,  from  whose 
summit,  about  four  thousand  feet  high,  may  be  seen 
on  clear  days  one  of  the  famous  panoramas  of  San 
Diego  County.  We  w^ere  deterred  from  the  ascent 
by  the  lowering  day,  which  shrouded  the  peak  in 
heavy  clouds.  There  is  a  long  though  easy  climb 
over  the  hill  range  on  the  edge  of  "Valle  de  San 
Jose,"  from  which  w^e  had  a  glorious  outlook  over 
a  long  succession  of  ranges  stretching  away  to  the 
red  glow  of  the  sunset.  For  the  sun  had  struggled 
through  the  mists  which  obscured  it  most  of  the  day 
and  was  flooding  the  breaking  clouds  w^ith  deep 
crimson.  Far  below^  us  lay  the  valley  with  its  patch- 
w^ork  of  cultivated  fields  and  red-roofed  ranch- 
houses  at  wide  intervals.  Beyond  the  crest  of  the 
grade  the  road  again  descends  to  the  river,  which 
we  followed  to  Santa  Ysabel.  From  here  we  pur- 
sued our  way  over  familar  roads  to  San  Diego,  ex- 
periencing no  little  satisfaction  in  having  covered 
all  the  main  highways — and  many  of  the  byways — 
of  the  county. 


149 


VIII 

THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

Like  many  a  pious  pilgrim  of  old,  we  set  out 
on  the  King's  Highway — the  storied  Camino  Real 
of  the  Golden  State.  We  shall  follow  in  the  foot- 
steps of  the  brown-robed  brothers  of  St.  Francis  to 
the  northernmost  of  the  chain  of  missions  which 
they  founded  in  their  efforts  to  convert  and  civilize 
the  red  men  of  California.  Not  with  sandals  and 
staff,  nor  yet  with  horse  or  patient  burro  shall  we 
undertake  the  journey,  but  our  servant  shall  be  the 
twentieth  century's  latest  gift  to  the  traveler — the 
wind-shod  motor  car.  And  we  shall  not  expect  a 
night's  lodging  w^ith  a  benediction  and  Godspeed 
such  as  was  given  the  wayfarer  at  each  link  in  the 
mission  chain  as  he  fared  forth  in  days  of  old.  We 
shall  behold  loneliness  and  decay  at  these  ancient 
seats  of  hospitality  and  good  cheer.  But  we  are 
sure  that  we  shall  find  in  the  crumbling,  vine-cov- 
ered ruins  a  glamour  of  romance  and  an  historic 
significance  that  would  make  our  journey  worth 
while  even  if  it  did  not  take  us  through  some  of  the 
loveliest  and  most  impressive  scenery  in  the  world. 

When  to  beauty  of  country  and  perfection  of 

clime  are  added  the  touch  of  human  antiquity  and 

romantic  association,  the  combination  should  prove 

attractive  to  even  the  most  prosaic.     The  memory 

of  human  sacrifice  and  devotion,  and  the  wealth  of 

historic  incident  that  lends  such  a  charm  to  Eng- 

150 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

land's  abbeys,  is  not  wanting  in  these  cruder  rem- 
nants of  the  pious  zeal  and  tireless  industry  of  the 
Spanish  padres  to  be  found  in  so  many  delightful 
nooks  of  the  Sunset  State.  The  story  of  the  Fran- 
ciscan missions  is  a  fascinating  one,  despite  its  chap- 
ters of  strife,  heavy  toil,  and  ultimate  failure.  From 
their  inception  in  weakness  and  poverty  and  their 
rise  to  aflfluence,  to  the  time  of  their  decadence  and 
final  abandonment,  these  offshoots  of  the  old  reli- 
gious system  of  Europe,  transplanted  to  the  alien 
soil  of  the  New  World,  afford  a  colorful  chapter  of 
American  history.  The  monk,  always  in  the  van- 
guard of  Spanish  exploration  and  civilization,  came 
hither,  as  we  have  already  seen,  a  little  after  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth  century.  The  Franciscan 
order  had  received  from  the  Castilian  throne  a  grant 
of  certain  properties  in  California.  Junipero  Serra, 
a  monk  of  true  piety  and  energetic  character,  gladly 
accepted  the  hard  and  laborious  task  of  founding 
missions  in  this  new^  field.  How^  he  finally  suc- 
ceeded we  have  already  told.  Others  followed  him 
and  between  the  years  of  1  769  and  1  823  twenty- 
one  missions  were  established  w^ithin  the  present 
limits  of  California,  extending  along  the  Pacific 
Coast  from  San  Diego  to  Sonoma,  about  seventy- 
five  miles  north  of  San  Francisco. 

Like  the  English  monks,  the  Spanish  padres 
when  locating  their  establishments  always  selected 
sites  with  pleasant  surroundings  and  commanding 
views  of  beautiful  scenery,  always  in  the  most  fer- 
tile valleys  and  adjacent  to  lake  or  river.  Many  of 
the  California  missions  are  within  a  short  distance 
of  the  Pacific,  whose  blue  waters  are  often  visible 

151 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

through  the  arcades,  lending  a  crowning  touch  of 
beauty  to  the  loveHness  of  the  semi-tropical  sur- 
roundings. And  in  sight  of  many  of  them  snow- 
capped mountains  rear  their  majestic  forms  against 
a  sky  matched  only  by  that  of  Italy  itself.  Sur- 
rounding the  buildings  were  fertile  fields,  with 
flowers,  fruit  trees,  and  palms,  usually  watered  by 
irrigation  as  well  as  by  winter  rains,  and,  indeed, 
the  Arcadia  of  the  poets  w^as  well-nigh  made  a 
reality  under  the  sway  of  the  California  padres. 
The  missions  were  located,  presumably,  a  day's 
journey  apart,  so  that  the  traveler  might  find  enter- 
tainment at  the  close  of  each  day,  for  the  hospitality 
of  the  Franciscan  fathers  never  waned. 

I  shall  give  a  short  sketch  of  each  of  the  mis- 
sions as  w^e  reach  them  in  course  of  our  pilgrimage, 
and  will  therefore  omit  further  historic  details  here. 
The  building,  as  a  rule,  was  done  solidly  and  well; 
adobe,  hard-burned  brick,  hewn  stone,  heavy  tim- 
bers, and  roof  tiles  being  so  skillfully  combined  that 
many  of  the  structures  are  still  in  fair  state  of  pres- 
ervation in  spite  of  winter  rains,  earthquake,  and 
long  neglect. 

No  doubt  the  equable  climate  has  been  a  factor 

in  retarding  their  decay.     Adobe  structures  have 

naturally  suffered  most,  but  even  these  were  so 

massively  built  that  had  it  not  been  for  earthquakes 

nearly  all  would  still    stand   almost    intact.     This 

agency  more  than  any    other    contributed    to    the 

ruined  condition  of  the  mission  buildings.     Several 

have  been  more  or  less  restored  and  are  in  daily  use, 

and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  all  which  are  not  past  re- 

152 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

habilitation  will  finally  be  rescued  from  the  fate 
which  threatens  them. 

The  old  notion  that  the  red  man  will  not  per- 
form hard  manual  labor  is  contradicted  in  the  his- 
tory of  mission  building.  The  work  was  done  by 
the  natives  under  the  direction  of  the  padres — and 
hard  work  it  w^as,  for  the  stone  had  to  be  quarried 
and  dressed,  brick  and  tiles  moulded  and  burned  or 
dried  in  the  sun,  and  heavy  timbers  brought  many 
miles,  often  on  the  men's  shoulders.  Just  how 
heavy  some  of  these  oaken  beams  were  is  shown  by 
several  in  the  San  Fernando  chapel,  fifteen  inches 
square  and  thirty  or  forty  feet  long.  Some  of  the 
churches  were  roofed  with  arched  stone  vaults 
which  must  have  required  great  labor  and  not  a  lit- 
tle architectural  skill,  though  the  latter  was  no 
doubt  supplied  by  the  monks. 

The  Indians  were  generally  reduced  to  a  mild 
state  of  peonage,  but  it  seems  that  the  padres'  policy 
was  one  of  kindness  and  very  seldom  was  there  re- 
bellion against  their  rule  on  the  part  of  converted 
Indians.  The  missions  suffered,  of  course,  from 
attacks  by  savages  who  refused  to  come  under  their 
sway,  but  the  priests  had  few  difficulties  with  the 
neophytes  who  worked  under  them.  Taken  alto- 
gether, there  are  few  other  instances  where  white 
men  had  so  little  trouble  with  Indians  with  whom 
they  came  in  daily  contact  for  a  considerable  period. 

The  priests  not  only  looked  after  the  religious 
instruction  of  their  charges,  but  taught  them  to  en- 
gage in  agriculture  and  such  arts  and  manufactures 
as  were  possible  under  the  conditions  that  then 
existed.     The  chief  occupation  was  farming  and, 

153 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

considering  the  crude  implements  at  their  disposal, 
the  mission  Indians  did  remarkably  well.  The 
plough  was  composed  of  two  wooden  beams — one 
of  them  shod  with  iron;  the  soil  was  merely 
scratched  and  it  was  necessary  to  go  over  a  field 
many  times.  A  large  bough,  dragged  over  the  soil 
to  cover  the  seed,  served  as  a  harrow^.  The  carts 
were  primitive  in  the  extreme — the  heavy  wheels 
w^ere  cut  from  a  single  block  of  solid  oak  and  the 
axle  and  frame  were  of  the  same  clumsy  construc- 
tion. Grain  was  harvested  by  hand-sickles  and 
threshed  on  hard  earth  by  driving  oxen  over  the 
sheaves.  Flour  was  ground  by  the  women  with 
pestles  in  stone  mortars,  though  in  a  few  cases 
rude  water-wheels  were  used  to  turn  grinding- 
stones. 

Live  stock  constituted  the  greater  part  of  the 
mission's  wealth.  Horses,  cattle,  and  sheep  were 
raised  in  large  numbers,  though  these  were  prob- 
ably not  so  numerous  as  some  of  the  ancient  chroni- 
clers would  have  us  believe.  The  Indians  w^ere  ex- 
ceedingly skillful  in  training  horses  and  very  adept 
in  the  use  of  the  "riata,"  or  lariat.  They  became 
efficient  in  caring  for  and  herding  cattle  and  sheep, 
a  vocation  which  many  of  their  descendants  follow 
to-day.  The  mild  climate  made  this  task  an  easy 
one  and  the  herds  increased  rapidly  from  year  to 
year. 

Vineyards  w^ere  planted  at  most  of  the  mis- 
sions and  the  inventories  at  the  time  of  seculariza- 
tion showed  that  the  fathers  kept  a  goodly  stock  of 
wines,  though  this  was  probably  for  their  own  con- 
sumption, the  natives  being  regaled  with  sweetened 

154 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

vinegar-and-water,  which  was  not  intoxicating. 
The  mission  grape  first  developed  by  the  padres  is 
to-day  one  of  the  most  esteemed  varieties  in  Cali- 
fornia vineyards. 

The  missions  were  necessarily  largely  depend- 
ent on  their  own  activities  for  such  manufactured 
products  as  they  required  and,  considering  their 
limited  facilities,  they  accomplished  some  wonder- 
ful results  in  this  direction.  Brick,  tile,  pottery, 
clothing,  saddles,  candles,  blankets,  furniture,  and 
many  other  articles  of  daily  necessity  were  made 
under  the  padres'  tutelage  and  such  trades  as  ma- 
sonry, carpentry,  blacksmithing,  tanning,  spinning, 
and  w^eaving  were  readily  acquired  by  the  once 
ignorant  and  indolent  Indians. 

Under  such  industry  and  businesslike  manage- 
ment, the  mission  properties  in  time  became  im- 
mensely valuable,  at  their  zenith  yielding  a  total 
revenue  estimated  at  not  less  than  two  million 
dollars  yearly.  This  prosperity  was  greedily 
watched  by  the  Mexican  government,  which  in  its 
straits  for  funds  conceived  the  idea  of  "seculariza- 
tion" of  the  missions,  a  plan  which  ultimately  led 
to  confiscation  and  dissolution.  Shortly  after  this 
came  the  American  conquest  and  the  conditions 
were  wholly  unfavorable  to  the  rehabilitation  of  the 
old  regime,  which  speedily  faded  to  a  romantic 
memory.  The  once  happy  and  industrious  natives 
were  driven  back  to  the  hills  and  their  final  extinc- 
tion seems  to  be  near  at  hand.  The  story  of  their 
hardship  and  desolation  and  the  wrongs  they 
suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  American  conqueror 

155 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

forms  the  burden  of  Mrs.  Jackson's  pathetic  story 
of  "Ramona." 

Justice  may  never  be  done  to  these  bitterly 
wronged  people — indeed,  most  of  them  have  passed 
beyond  reach  of  human  justice;  but  of  later  years 
there  has  come  a  deeper  realization  of  the  import- 
ance of  the  work  of  the  California  missionary  and 
a  greater  interest  in  the  crumbling  relics  of  his  pious 
activities.  It  has  awakened  a  little  late,  you  may 
say,  but  the  old  adage,  "Better  late  than  never,"  is 
doubly  applicable  here.  We  who  have  traversed 
the  length  and  breadth  of  Britain  have  seen  how 
lovingly  nearly  every  ancient  abbey  and  castle  is 
now  guarded — though  in  many  cases  it  was  pain- 
fully apparent  that  the  spirit  was  too  long  in  com- 
ing. Many  a  noble  pile  had  nearly  vanished  from 
neglect  and  vandalism  ere  an  enlightened  public 
sentiment  was  created  to  guard  and  preserve  its 
scanty  remnants.  And  I  fear  that  this  sentiment 
was  more  the  result  of  selfish  interest  than  of  any 
high  conception  of  altruistic  duty — the  strangers 
who  came  to  see  these  ancient  monuments  and  left 
money  behind  them  probably  did  more  to  aweiken 
Britons  to  the  value  and  importance  of  their  storied 
ruins  than  any  strong  sense  of  appreciation  on  their 
own  part.  California  should  be  moved  by  a  higher 
motive  than  mere  gain  to  properly  care  for  and  pre- 
serve her  historic  shrines.  They  represent  the  be- 
ginning of  her  present  civilization  and  enlighten- 
ment, which  has  placed  her  in  the  forefront  of  the 
states.  Her  history,  literature,  and  architecture 
have  been  profoundly  affected  by  the  Franciscan 
missions  and  their  great  influence  in  this  direction 

156 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

is  yet  to  come.  They  should  be  restored  and  pre- 
served at  public  cost,  even  though  they  continue  in 
charge  of  the  Catholic  Church.  Their  claims  as 
historic  monuments  far  outweigh  any  prejudice  that 
may  exist  against  contributing  to  any  secular  insti- 
tutions and  if  the  Catholic  Church  is  willing  to 
occupy  and  guard  them,  so  much  the  better.  It 
insures  that  they  will  be  kept  open  to  the  public 
at  all  times  and  that  visitors  will  be  gladly  received 
and  hospitably  treated.  In  all  our  journey  along 
the  King's  Highway  we  experienced  nothing  but 
the  utmost  courtesy  and  kindness  from  the  Catholic 
priests  w^ho  may  now  be  found  at  many  of  the 
missions.  The  padre  acts  as  custodian  and  guide 
and  can  always  tell  you  the  story  of  the  mission 
in  his  charge.  These  men  have  already  done  much 
to  restore  several  of  the  missions  and  to  reclaim 
them  from  complete  destruction.  The  church  is 
struggling  to  carry  this  work  still  farther,  but  she 
has  not  the  means  at  her  disposal  to  accomplish  it 
before  some  of  the  landmarks  will  have  entirely 
vanished.  And  I  may  say  here  that  although  not  a 
Catholic  myself,  I  believe  that  the  Catholics  deserve 
commendation  and  assistance  in  this  great  work. 

And  if  California  is  not  influenced  by  the 
higher  consideration  we  have  enumerated,  selfish 
re^ojLS  are  strong  for  the  preservation  of  the  mis- 
sions. Already  they  are  proving  an  attraction  to  a 
great  number  of  discerning  tourists  and  with  the 
increasing  prevalence  of  the  motor  car.  El  Camino 
Real  will  become  one  of  the  most  popular  routes 
in  the  world.     People  will  bring  their  cars  from  the 

Eastern  States — instead  of  taking  them  to  Europe 

157 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

— and  will  pass  their  vacations  in  California.  They 
will  spend  money  freely  and  many  will  become 
enamored  of  the  country  to  the  extent  of  becoming 
permanent  residents.  The  missions  are  one  of  the 
greatest  attractions  to  bring  the  tourist  class  to 
California- — she  can  not  afford  to  allow  them  to 
disappear.  They  form  a  valuable  asset  in  more 
w^ays  than  one  and  now  is  the  time  to  awaken  to 
the  fact. 

Perhaps  I  have  lingered  too  long  on  this  sub- 
ject, but  it  seems  to  me  like  a  necessary  preface  to 
a  trip  over  the  King's  Highway.  We  left  San  Diego 
in  the  late  afternoon  and  reached  the  beautiful 
suburb  of  La  Jolla  just  as  the  declining  sun  was 
flooding  the  broad  expanse  of  the  ocean  with  golden 
glory.  The  town  is  situated  on  a  promontory  be- 
neath which  there  is  a  lovely  little  park  and  one 
can  enter  several  caves  from  the  ocean  which,  under 
favorable  conditions,  are  almost  as  beautiful  as  the 
Blue  Grotto  of  Capri.  Here  is  a  favorite  resort  of 
artists  and  a  permanent  colony  has  been  established, 
the  vicinity  affording  never-ending  themes  for  their 
skill.  One  of  these  is  to  be  seen  a  few  miles  farther 
on  the  road — the  group  of  Torrey  pines  on  a  head- 
land overlooking  the  sea.  Here  is  the  only  spot 
on  this  continent  where  these  weird  but  beautiful 
trees  are  to  be  found,  and  our  illustration  gives 
some  idea  of  their  picturesque  outlines  against  the 
sky.  They  were  named  for  one  of  our  earliest 
naturalists,  John  Torrey,  who  was  the  first  to  de- 
scribe them  in  a  scientific  way.  The  few  wind- 
swept patriarchs  of  this  rare  tribe  straggle  over  the 

bold  headland  or  crouch  on  its  edges  in  fantastic 

158 


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Pi 
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£ 

o 

F 

^ 

THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

attitudes.  At  this  point  the  road  leaves  the  cliff 
which  it  has  traversed  for  several  miles  and  descends 
by  a  long  winding  grade  to  the  seashore.  There 
is  a  fairly  steep  pitch  just  at  the  top,  but  for  most 
of  the  descent  the  gradient  is  easy,  though  sharp 
turns  and  blind  corners  make  careful  driving  neces- 
sary. 

Twilight  had  fallen  when  w^e  reached  Del  Mar 
— our  objective  for  the  night.  Previous  experience 
had  taught  us  that  the  Stratford  Inn  was  one  of  the 
most  comfortable  and  satisfactory  in  California — 
w^ith  the  added  attraction  of  moderate  rates.  It  is 
a  modern  building,  in  Elizabethan  style,  situated  on 
the  hillside  fronting  the  wide  sweep  of  the  Pacific. 
It  is  surrounded  by  law^ns  with  flowers  and  shrub- 
bery in  profusion  and  there  is  a  wide  terrace  in 
front  with  rustic  chairs,  a  capital  place  to  lounge 
at  one's  ease  and  view  the  sunset  ocean.  Inside 
everything  is  plain  and  homelike — in  fact,  "home- 
like" best  describes  the  greatest  charm  of  Stratford 
Inn. 

After  dinner — which  was  more  like  a  meal  in 
a  w^ell-ordered  private  home  than  the  usual  hotel 
concoction — I  inquired  about  the  roads  of  the 
vicinity  of  a  young  man  whose  conversation 
showed  him  familiar  with  the  country.  He  readily 
gave  the  desired  information  and,  learning  that  we 
were  tourists  from  the  East,  he  put  the  universal 
first  question  of  a  Californian, 

"And  how  do  you  like  the  country?" 

"Very  much,  indeed,"  I  rejoined.  "In  fact,  it 
seems  to  me  that  anyone  who  isn't  satisfied  with 

159 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

California  isn't  likely  to  be  thoroughly  satisfied  any 
place  short  of  the  New  Jerusalem." 

"And  that's  too — uncertain,"  he  replied. 
"California  is  good  enough  without  taking  any 
chances.  In  the  ten  years  I've  been  here  I've  never 
had  any  hankering  to  return  to  the  East,  where  I 
came  from." 

"But  honestly,  now,"  I  said,  "aren't  there  some 
people  from  the  East  who  get  sick  of  California  and 
are  anxious  to  get  back  home?" 

"Yes,"  he  admitted.  "I  know^  of  several  who 
said  it  w^as  too  monotonous  here — that  they  w^ere 
going  back  to  God's  country  and  stay  there ;  but  in 
the  course  of  a  year  I  saw  them  here  again;  after 
one  good  dose  of  Eastern  winter  they  came  back  to 
California  and  forever  after  held  their  peace.  Have 
you  been  about  Del  Mar  and  up  to  the  top  of  the 
hill?"  he  went  on.  "No?  Then  I  w^ant  you  to 
drive  about  with  me  a  short  time  in  the  morning 
and  let  me  show^  you  the  prettiest  seaside  town  and 
one  of  the  grandest  views  in  California."  He  was 
so  sincere  that  we  acquiesced  and  he  said  he  would 
be  on  hand  with  his  car  at  the  appointed  hour. 

Returning  to  our  rooms,  which  fronted  on  the 
sea,  we  were  soon  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  long,  rhyth- 
mic wash  of  the  waves  on  the  beach.  It  would  be 
hard  to  imagine  a  lovelier  or  more  inspiring  scene 
than  that  which  greeted  us  through  our  open  win- 
dows on  the  following  morning.  An  opalescent 
fog — shot  through  by  the  warm  rays  of  the  rising 
sun — hovered  over  the  deep  violet  ocean ;  but  even 
as  we  looked  it  began  to  break  and  scatter,  the 
azure  heavens  gleamed  through,  and  the  sea  in  the 

160 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

distance  took  on  a  deep  steely  blue,  shading  into 
lighter  tones  nearer  the  shore,  and  finally  breaking 
into  a  long  line  of  snow-white  spray.  A  light  rain 
had  fallen  in  the  night  and  everything  was  inde- 
scribably fresh  and  invigorating — and  the  irresisti- 
ble lure  of  the  out-of-doors,  always  so  strong  in  Cali- 
fornia, seemed  doubly  potent  this  glorious  morning. 

We  hastened  down  to  breakfast — which 
proved  quite  as  different  from  the  ordinary  hotel 
meal  as  the  dinner  of  the  evening  before — and  at 
the  appointed  hour  our  friend  appeared  with  his 
car.  This  chance  acquaintance  proved  fortunate — 
for  us,  at  least — since  our  guide  knew  all  about  the 
place  and  most  of  the  people  who  lived  there.  Some 
of  these  are  well  known  in  business,  literature,  and 
art  circles  and,  drawn  by  the  charm  of  Del  Mar, 
spend  a  good  part  of  their  time  there.  The  contour 
of  the  site  afforded  remarkable  opportunities  for  the 
landscape-gardener,  and  very  successfully  has  he 
seized  upon  them.  The  hill  is  cut  through  the 
center  by  a  deep  erosion ;  along  its  edges  are  numer- 
ous shelf-like  places  which  make  unique  building 
sites,  some  of  which  have  already  been  occupied. 
Straight  lines  have  been  tabooed  in  laying  out  the 
streets,  which  circle  hither  and  thither  among  the 
Torrey  pines  and  eucalyptus  trees.  The  houses  and 
gardens  conform  to  the  artistic  irregularity  of  the 
streets  and,  altogether,  Del  Mar,  both  in  charm  of 
natural  situation  and  good  judgment  in  public  and 
private  improvements,  is  quite  unique  even  in  Cali- 
fornia. 

But  the  marvel  of  Del  Mar  is  the  view  from 
the  summit  of  the  great  hill  which  towers  above  the 

161 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

village  and  which  may  be  reached  by  a  compara- 
tively easy  road.  I  find  a  description  given  in  a 
small  booklet  issued  by  the  Stratford  Inn  that  is 
genuine  literature — in  fact,  the  literary  style  of  the 
booklet  so  impressed  me  that  I  spoke  of  it  to  a  Los 
Angeles  friend.  "Not  strange,"  said  he.  "It  was 
written  by  John  S.  McGroarty,  w^ho  is  interested  in 
Del  Mar."  In  any  event,  it  is  worthy  of  Mr.  Mc- 
Groarty's  facile  pen,  as  is  proven  by  the  following 
description  of  the  scene  from  Del  Mar  hill: 

"From  its  pinnacles  you  can  hear  the  ocean 
crooning  in  long,  rolling  breakers  against  gleaming 
shore  lines,  or  see  it  leap  into  geysers  of  spray 
against  majestic  headlands  for  an  eye-encompassed 
distance  of  forty  miles,  swelling  in  from  the  magic 
isles  of  Santa  Catalina  and  San  Clemente,  and  the 
curtain  of  the  sky  far  beyond  them  all.  But  from 
the  same  pinnacles,  landward,  you  shall  look  down 
from  your  very  feet  into  the  dream-kissed  vale  of 
San  Dieguito,  serpentined  with  natural  canoe-w^ays 
that  have  crept  in  from  the  great  waters.  And  from 
the  San  Dieguito  meadows  there  are  trails  that  lead 
into  the  valleys  of  Escondido  and  San  Luis  Rey  and 
many  other  valleys.  Eastward  are  the  peaks  of  the 
lake-sheltering  Cuyamacas  and  Mt.  Palomar.  Lift 
up  your  vision  yet  again  and  you  shall  behold,  all 
crowned  with  snow,  the  hoary  heads  of  old  San 
Antonio,  Mount  San  Bernardino  and  San  Jacinto 
— the  kingly  outposts  of  the  royal  Sierras.  Back  of 
those  white  serranos  is  the  desert,  only  fifty  miles 
from  where  you  stand.  And  it  is  these  two — the 
desert  and  the  sea — that  make  Del  Mar  what  it  is. 

"The  Del  Mar  which  the  traveler  beholds  from 
162 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

the  car  window  as  the  railroad  train  glides  along 
the  beach  on  that  wonderful  journey  south  from 
San  Juan  Capistrano,  is  a  vast  hill  rising  from  be- 
tween two  estuaries  of  the  ocean,  with  Encinitas 
headland  to  the  north  and  Torrey  Pine  Point  to  the 
south.  But  one  gets  no  idea  at  all  of  what  the  hill 
or  Del  Mar  really  is  by  looking  up  to  it  from  the 
railway.  Its  appearance  from  such  a  fleeting  view 
would  be  much  the  same  as  the  view  of  many  an- 
other coast  hill ;  and  it  w^ould  perhaps  pass  without 
special  notice  from  the  railway  traveler  were  it  not 
for  the  fact  that  it  is  heavily  w^ooded  and  that  a 
strikingly  beautiful  and  large  building  in  the  Eliza- 
bethan style  of  architecture  instantly  attracts  an 
admiring  eye. 

"That  Del  Mar  hill  is  wooded  is  owing  both 
to  the  generosity  of  nature  and  to  the  poetic  enter- 
prise of  the  'boomers'  who,  in  those  still  remem- 
bered days  of  empire-building,  planted  the  bare 
spaces  to  gum,  acacia,  and  other  trees.  The  trees 
that  are  indigenous  to  Del  Mar  and  that  have  been 
there  for  hundreds  and  perhaps  thousands  of  years 
are  the  cypress  and  the  Torrey  pine,  both  of  which 
are  favorites  with  artists  and  all  nature  lovers.  And 
they  are  both  rare,  the  cypress  being  found  hardly 
anywhere  else  on  the  California  coast  except  at 
Monterey,  while  the  Torrey  pine  is  absolutely  un- 
known on  the  face  of  the  earth  except  at  Del  Mar 
and  La  Jolla,  a  few  miles  farther  south.  But  there 
is,  besides  the  scattered  Torreys  at  Del  Mar,  a  whole 
grove  of  these  five-needled  pines — a  grove  famed 
among  tree-lovers  the  world  over.  As  to  the  Eliza- 
bethan building,  which  fastens  the  traveler's  curi- 

163 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

osity  from  his  flying  window,  he  is  informed  that 
it  is  an  inn  called  The  Stratford,*  and  well  named 
at  that.  It  was  designed  by  the  English  architect, 
Austin,  who  must  have  put  a  good  deal  of  heart 
into  his  work,  for  his  inn  is  a  thing  of  beauty.  Nor 
is  it  just  a  thing  of  outward  show.  You  will  think 
of  what  rare  Ben  Jonson  said  as  you  sit  at  its  plen- 
teous board  and  slip  away  into  dreamland  from  its 
cool,  clean  beds,  with  the  deep  melody  of  the  sea 
in  your  ears:  'There  is  nothing  which  has  yet  been 
contrived  by  man  by  which  so  much  happiness  is 
produced  as  by  a  good  tavern  or  inn.'  " 

I  would  beg  pardon  of  my  reader  for  having 
quoted  so  much  at  length  from  an  advertising  book- 
let were  it  not  that  the  quotations  themselves  render 
it  unnecessary.  Doubly  fortunate  is  Del  Mar,  not 
only  in  the  charms  which  she  possesses,  but  in  hav- 
ing an  admirer  who  can  herald  them  to  the  world  in 
such  pleasing  language  and  imagery. 

We  are  late  in  leaving  Del  Mar — we  always 
were  on  each  of  our  several  visits.  But  the  lure 
of  the  road  on  such  a  glorious  day  is  too  strong  for 
even  the  attractions  of  Del  Mar  and  its  pleasant  inn. 
The  purr  of  the  motor  and  the  long  white  road 
winding  down  to  the  seashore  and  disappearing  in 
the  distant  hills  is  a  combination  to  rouse  all  the 
wanderlust  in  our  natures  and  waving  adieu  to  our 
kindly  hosts  we  are  on  the  King's  Highway  again. 
Occasionally  snowy  clouds  float  lazily  through  the 
deep  azure  sky,  serving  to  give  variation  to  the 
scene;  they  darken  the  sun  at  intervals  and  the 
lapis-lazuli  blue  of  the  ocean  changes  to  dull  silver 
for  a  moment.     Sunshine  and  shadow  chase  each 

164 


RUINS   OP    CHAPEL,    SAN    LUIS    KEY 

(Before    Restoration) 

Prom    Photograph    by    Pillsbury 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

other  over  the  low  green  hills  to  the  landward  and 
brighten  or  obscure  the  distant  mountain  ranges. 
Beyond  Encinitas,  about  ten  miles  from  Del  Mar, 
the  road  follows  a  magnificent  beach.  Here  the 
waves  have  piled  up  a  long  ridge  of  rounded  stones, 
from  which  a  wide  stretch  of  hard  sand  slopes  down 
to  the  sea.  It  is  sprinkled  with  millions  of  golden 
particles,  giving  a  peculiarly  brilliant  effect  in  the 
sunlight  which  may  have  roused  the  hopes  of  more 
than  one  early  adventurer  in  his  search  for  El 
Dorado.  The  smooth,  shining  sand  tempts  us  to 
leave  the  car  by  the  road  to  wander  up  and  down 
the  beach,  gathering  shells  and  seaweed  or  w^atch- 
ing  the  long  w^hite  line  of  waves  creep  landward 
and  recede  in  glittering  ripples.  Each  comes  nearer 
and  nearer  until  one  flings  its  white  spray  over  us 
and  drives  us  toward  the  great  cobblestone  dike 
stretching  along  the  shore.  Near  this  are  myriads 
of  yellow  and  pink  sand-flowers  with  queer  waxen 
leaves  and  delicate  silken  petals.  Some  day,  no 
doubt,  as  California's  millions  increase,  this  beau- 
tiful beach  will  become  a  popular  resort. 

A  few  miles  beyond  this  we  pause  in  a 
sheltered  canyon  and  spread  our  noonday  lunch 
under  a  vast  sprawling  sycamore — if  I  should  make 
a  guess  at  its  dimensions  I  might  lay  myself  open 
to  the  charge  of  exaggeration,  which  some  insinuate 
is  the  universal  California  failing.  Out  of  Ocean- 
side  the  road  soon  takes  to  the  highlands  again  and 
runs  through  fields  of  yellow  mustard  and  purple- 
pink  wild  radish  blossoms — sad  pests,  they  tell  us, 
for  all  their  glorious  color. 

Oceanside  is  a  quiet  little  place  with  a  large 

165 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

hotel  down  towards  the  beach,  and  her  El  Camino 
Real  has  departed  from  its  olden  course,  for  the 
mission  of  San  Luis  lies  some  four  miles  inland. 
Just  out  of  the  village  we  descend  a  winding  grade 
into  a  wide  green  valley,  and  far  to  one  side  under 
a  sheltering  hill  we  catch  the  gleam  of  white- 
washed walls  surmounted  by  the  characteristic  mis- 
sion tower.  We  soon  draw  up  in  front  of  the  build- 
ing, which  has  lately  been  restored — much  to  its 
artistic  detriment,  we  are  told.  This  is  an  almost 
inevitable  result  of  restoration,  it  is  true,  but  with- 
out restoration  it  would  be  impossible  to  preserve 
the  crumbling  fragments  of  these  old  adobe  struc- 
tures. San  Luis  Rey  is  considered  by  many  good 
authorities  to  have  been  the  finest  of  all  the  mis- 
sions in  its  palmy  days — a  claim  well  borne  out  by 
the  description  of  Dahant  Cilly,  a  French  traveler 
who  visited  it  in  1827,  when  it  was  in  the  height 
of  its  glory.     He  wrote: 

"At  last  we  turned  inland  and  after  a  jaunt  of 
an  hour  and  a  half  we  found  before  us,  on  a  piece 
of  rising  ground,  the  superb  buildings  of  Mission 
San  Luis  Rey,  whose  glittering  whiteness  was 
flashed  back  to  us  by  the  first  rays  of  the  day.  At 
that  distance  and  in  the  still  uncertain  light  of  dawn, 
this  edifice,  of  a  very  beautiful  model,  supported 
upon  its  numerous  pillars,  had  the  aspect  of  a 
palace.  The  architectural  faults  can  not  be  grasped 
at  this  distance,  and  the  eye  is  attracted  only  to  the 

elegant  mass  of  this  beautiful  structure 

Instinctively  I  stopped  my  horse  to  gaze  alone,  for 
a  few  minutes,  on  the  beauty  of  the  sight. 

"This  building  forms  a  large  square  of  five 
166 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

hundred  feet  on  each  side.  The  main  facade  is  a 
long  peristyle  borne  on  thirty-two  square  pillars 
supporting  round  arches.  The  edifice  is  composed, 
indeed,  of  only  a  ground-floor,  but  its  elevation,  of 
fine  proportions,  gives  it  as  much  grace  as  noble- 
ness. It  is  covered  with  a  tile  roof,  flattened,  around 
which  reaches,  as  much  w^ithout  as  w^ithin  the 
square,  a  terrace  with  an  elegant  balustrade  which 
stimulates  still  more  the  height.  Within  is  seen  a 
large  court,  neat  and  levelled,  around  which  pillars 
and  arches  similar  to  those  of  the  peristyle  support 
a  long  cloister,  by  w^hich  one  communicates  with  all 
the  dependencies  of  the  mission." 

We  see  before  us  now^  a  huge,  dormitory-like 
building  adjoining  the  ancient  church,  which  is  also 
undergoing  repair  and  restoration — an  adobe  struc- 
ture with  a  beautiful  tower  which  is  about  the  only 
exterior  remnant  of  the  mission's  ancient  glory.  A 
brown-robed,  bare-footed  Mexican  priest  responds 
to  the  bell  and  offers  to  guide  us  about  the  building. 
He  conducts  us  to  the  church — a  long,  narrow 
apartment  with  high  beamed  ceiling,  resplendent  in 
the  bright  colors  of  the  ancient  decorations  recently 
restored.  The  beautiful  mortuary  chapel — the 
finest  in  the  whole  chain  of  missions — was  still  in 
ruins  when  we  first  visited  San  Luis  Rey,  but  two 
years  later  we  found  it  restored  in  solid  concrete. 
Its  artistic  beauty  was  sadly  impaired  by  the  im- 
provement, but  the  preservation  of  the  chapel  is 
assured.  We  are  glad,  though,  that  we  saw  it  when 
the  crumbling  remnants  were  covered  with  grasses 
and  wall-flowers,  and  it  was  still  redolent  of  mem- 
ories of  mission  days.     The  quaint  old  cross  in  the 

167 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

cemetery  has  undergone  like  treatment,  its  rough 
brick  foundation  having  been  smoothly  coated  with 
cement  and  decorated  with  bright  red  stripes  at  the 
corners.  About  the  only  part  of  San  Luis  still  in 
its  original  state,  save  for  the  destructive  effect  of 
time  and  weather,  are  the  arches  of  the  ancient 
cloisters,  which  stand  in  the  enclosure  to  the  rear 
of  the  dormitory  and  keep  alive  the  sentiment  al- 
ways awakened  by  such  memorials. 

Our  guide  told  us  something  of  life  at  the 
present  time  in  the  mission,  which  is  now  a  train- 
ing school  for  monks  of  the  Franciscan  order. 
There  are  eight  brothers  in  residence  who  do  all  the 
w^ork,  each  one  having  some  particular  trade,  our 
guide  being  the  tailor.  They  did  much  of  the  work 
of  restoration,  though,  of  course,  some  assistants 
had  to  be  hired,  mainly  from  the  sixty  parishioners 
of  the  church,  most  of  whom  are  Indians.  For  his 
courtesy  we  offered  him  a  gratuity,  but  he  declined. 

"The  brothers  must  not  receive  gifts,"  he  said. 
"I  will  take  you  to  Father  O'Keefe  if  you  wish  to 
give  anything  to  the  work." 

And  so  we  met  the  kindly  old  Irishman  who 
has  done  so  much  for  the  restoration  of  the  Cali- 
fornia missions.  He  was  of  portly  stature,  un- 
shaven for  several  days  and  clad  in  the  brown  robes 
of  his  order.  He  came  to  San  Luis  Rey  in  1 902 
from  Santa  Barbara  and  all  the  restoration  had  been 
done  since  then.  He  had  raised  and  expended  more 
than  twenty  thousand  dollars  in  the  work,  besides 
the  labor  of  the  monks  themselves,  who  receive  no 
pay. 

"I  will  accept  your  contribution,"  said  Father 

168 


FATHER    O'KEEFE    AT    SAN    LUIS    REY 
From   Photograph   by   Putnam   &   Valentine 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

O'Keefe,  "for  this  work;  the  Franciscan  fathers 
take  nothing  for  themselves;  and  will  you  write 
your  name  in  our  visitors'  book?"  I  did  as  re- 
quested and  Father  O'Keefe  declared,  "That  name 
looks  good  anywhere — it  has  a  genuine  flavor  of 
the  Ould  Sod  about  it." 

And  we  fell  to  talking  of  the  Emerald  Isle, 
which  the  kindly  old  priest  never  expected  to  see 
again.  He  was  greatly  interested  when  he  learned 
that  we  had  made  a  recent  motor  tour  through  the 
hills  and  vales  of  the  Ould  Countrie,  which  he  still 
loves  as  a  loyal  son.  He  bade  us  adieu  and  before 
departing  we  paused  on  the  cloistered  porch  to  ad- 
mire the  beauty  of  the  scene  before  us.  The  mis- 
sion overlooks  a  pleasant  green  vale  shut  in  on 
every  hand  by  low  hills,  through  which  we  caught 
a  fleeting  glimpse  of  the  sea.  It  was  a  prosperous 
scene — as  it  no  doubt  was  in  the  days  of  old — with 
ranch-houses,  cattle,  and  cultivated  fields — another 
instance  of  the  unerring  eye  of  the  early  monk  in 
choosing  a  site  for  his  mission  home. 

San  Luis  Rey  was  one  of  the  later  foundations, 
dating  from  June  13,  1  798.  From  the  very  start 
the  miission  was  prosperous.  In  1 800  there  were 
three  hundred  and  thirty-seven  neophytes,  and 
twenty-six  years  later  it  had  reached  its  zenith  with 
twenty-eight  hundred  and  sixty-nine.  It  had  then 
great  holdings  of  live  stock  and  harvested  a  crop 
of  over  twelve  thousand  bushels  of  grain.  From 
this  time  it  began  to  decline  and  at  its  secularization 
in  1 834  its  net  worth  was  but  a  fraction  of  its  former 
wealth.  So  indignant  were  the  Indians  over  the 
decree  that,  it  is  recorded,  they  slaughtered  twenty 

169 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

thousand  head  of  cattle  to  prevent  them  from  fall- 
ing into  the  hands  of  the  Mexicans.  In  1 843  the 
property  was  restored  to  the  church,  but  its  spoil- 
ation  had  been  accomplished  and  barely  four  hun- 
dred poverty-stricken  Indians  remained.  In  1847 
General  Fremont  took  possession  and  later  the 
building  and  site  were  returned  to  the  church. 

Beyond  Oceanside  there  was  much  fine 
scenery  along  the  road  and  everything  was  at  its 
best  on  this  glorious  May  afternoon.  It  was  a  clear, 
lucent  day,  with  only  a  slight  purplish  haze  in  the 
far  distance.  The  sea  was  as  transcendently  beauti- 
ful as  this  warm  soft  southern  sea  can  be  in  its 
loveliest  mood — a  deep,  dark,  solid  blue  flecked 
with  purple  seaweed  and  shading  to  pale  green  near 
the  shore,  upon  which  the  long  white  line  of  the 
breakers  swept  incessantly.  At  times  we  ran  at 
the  foot  of  desert  hills  covered  with  cacti  and  scrub 
cedars,  but  relieved  from  monotony  by  the  orange 
flame  of  the  poppies.  Again  we  passed  through 
wide  meadows  starred  with  w^ild  flowers — the  deli- 
cate daturas,  dahlias,  poppies,  and  a  hundred  others 
spangled  the  hillsides  everywhere.  Along  the 
beaches  gleamed  the  pink  verbenas  and  yellow  sand- 
flowers.  Birds  were  numerous;  the  clear,  melo- 
dious note  of  the  meadow  lark  and  the  warble  of  the 
mocking  bird  were  heard  on  every  hand.  In  places 
we  ran  along  the  shore  on  a  headland  high  above 
the  sea  and  again  w^e  dropped  down  to  a  sandy 
beach.  Much  of  the  road  was  dusty,  rough,  and 
poor — sand  and  adobe  that  must  have  been  well- 
nigh  impassable  in  wet  weather.  Need  I  say  that  it 
has  been  improved  since  the  new  state  highway 

170 


A    CORNER    OP    CAPISTRANO 
From   Photograph    by   Dassonville 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

follows  the  course  of  El  Camino  Real  south  of  Los 
Angeles  ? 

After  closely  following  the  beach  for  many 
miles  the  road  rounds  a  huge  cliff  and  turns  sharply 
inland — we  saw  no  more  of  the  ocean.  Dana  men- 
tions the  coast  just  above  the  point  in  "Tw^o  Years 
Before  the  Mast,"  as  a  spot  where  the  ship's  people 
landed  to  trade  w^ith  the  natives,  whose  merchan- 
dise consisted  chiefly  of  skins  and  furs.  Climbing 
to  the  summit  of  a  pass  through  the  hills,  we  caught 
a  distant  glimpse  of  the  crumbling  walls  and  red 
tiles  of  another  of  the  old-time  retreats  of  the 
fathers  of  St.  Francis. 

I  find  in  my  "Log-Book  of  a  Motor  Car,"  set 
down  on  the  spot,  "Capistrano  is  really  the  most 
picturesque  of  all  the  missions  w^e  have  seen" — a 
judgment  which  I  am  still  willing  to  let  stand  after 
having  visited  every  link  in  the  ancient  chain.  Per- 
haps this  impression  is  partly  due  to  the  fact  that 
the  restorer's  hand  has  so  far  dealt  lightly  with  San 
Juan  Mission  and  partly  because  the  town  of  Capi- 
strano  itself  is  so  redolent  of  ancient  California.  In- 
deed, this  scattered  hamlet  must  have  looked  very 
much  the  same  fifty  years  ago  as  it  does  to-day, 
and  as  yet  it  shows  little  sign  of  waking  from  its 
somnolence  and  catching  step  with  the  rapid  march 
of  California's  progress.  The  population  is  mostly 
Mexican  and  half-breed — a  dreaming,  easy-going 
community  that  seems  quite  content  with  its  hum- 
drum life  and  obvious  poverty.  There  is  a  good- 
sized  wooden  hotel  which  in  numerous  roadside 
signs  makes  an  earnest  bid  for  the  patronage  of 

171 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

motorists,  and  looks  as  if  it  might  be  fairly  com- 
fortable for  a  brief  sojourn. 

To  see  Capistrano,  the  motor  which  takes  you 
away  when  you  are  ready  to  go,  is  the  means  par 
excellence.  The  charm  of  the  place  is  the  mission, 
which  you  can  see  to  your  satisfaction  in  an  hour 
or  two,  though  you  will  doubtless  desire  to  come 
again.  It  stands  at  the  edge  of  the  village  in  the 
luxuriant  green  valley,  guarded  by  the  encircling 
hills  so  omnipresent  in  California.  Someone  has 
styled  it  the  Melrose  Abbey  of  the  west,  but  it  is 
quite  as  different  from  Melrose  Abbey  as  California 
is  unlike  Scotland.  We  enter  the  grounds  and  look 
about  some  time  for  a  guide,  but  find  no  one  save 
a  dark-eyed  slip  of  a  girl  in  a  broad  sombrero,  plac- 
ing flowers  on  the  altar  of  the  diminutive  chapel. 
She  leads  us  to  the  quarters  of  the  padre  and  we 
hear  him  chanting  a  Latin  prayer  as  we  approach. 
He  is  a  tall,  dark,  ascetic-looking  young  fellow,  who 
greets  us  warmly  and  asks  us  to  step  into  his  study 
until  he  is  ready  to  go  with  us.  It  is  a  bare,  uncom- 
fortable-looking room,  which  from  the  outside  we 
would  never  have  suspected  to  be  occupied.  He  is 
Father  St.  John  O'Sullivan,  a  young  Kentuckian 
of  Irish  descent  and  one  can  soon  see  that  he  is  at 
San  Juan  Capistrano  because  his  heart  is  in  his 
work.  He  tells  us  little  of  the  story  of  the  mission, 
for  he  has  written  a  booklet  covering  that — ^which 
we  gladly  purchase,  and  also  a  number  of  the  beau- 
tiful photographs  which  he  himself  has  taken.  Like 
every  other  mission  priest  whom  we  met,  his  heart 
is  set  on  the  restoration  and  preservation  of  his 
charge  and  every  dollar  that  he  gets  by  contribution 

172 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

or  the  sale  of  his  pictures  or  souvenirs  is  hoarded 
for  that  purpose. 

And  who  can  look  about  the  beautiful  ruin 
and  not  be  impressed  that  his  purpose  is  a  worthy 
one?  For  here,  beyond  question,  was  one  of  the 
largest  establishments  and  the  finest  church  of  all 
the  twenty-one  missions  of  California.  Our  pic- 
tures must  be  the  best  description  of  the  ruin — but 
they  can  give  little  idea  of  the  impressive  ensemble. 
The  inner  court  w^as  surrounded  by  arched  cloisters, 
part  of  w^hich  still  remain,  though  time-stained  to  a 
mellow  brown  and  covered  with  vines  and  roses. 
A  tiny  garden  now  relieves  the  wide  w^aste  of  the 
ancient  enclosure,  fragments  of  whose  walls  are 
still  to  be  seen.  The  original  tiles  still  cover  the 
roof,  giving  that  rich  color  combination  of  dull  reds, 
silver-grays,  and  moss-greens  which  one  seldom 
sees  elsewhere.  The  ruins  of  the  great  church  are 
the  most  impressive  and  melancholy  portion — 
doubly  so  when  one  learns  that  the  earthquake  of 
1812  tumbled  the  seven  stone  domes  of  the  roof 
upon  the  congregation  while  at  mass,  crushing  out 
forty  lives.  Traces  of  the  carvings  and  decorations 
still  remain  which  show  that  in  rude  artistic  touches 
Capistrano  church  surpassed  all  its  compeers.  A 
little  nondescript  campanile  with  four  bells  remains, 
whose  inscriptions  and  history  are  given  in  Father 
O'Sullivan's  "Little  Chapters."  Here,  also,  he 
gives  one  or  two  pleasing  traditions  of  the  bells, 
which  are  worth  repeating  here: 

"Of  the  mission  bells  there  are  many  traditions 
known  to  all  the  older  people  of  San  Juan.  One 
of  these  relates  to  the  good  old  padre.  Fray  Jose 


173 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

Zalvidea.  Of  all  the  mission  padres,  he  more  than 
the  others,  still  survives  in  the  living  memory  of  the 
people  and  his  name  is  the  'open  sesame'  to  the 
treasure  caves  of  local  tradition. 

"Adhering  to  the  ancient  custom  of  his 
brethren,  he  always  traveled  afoot  on  his  journeys 
to  other  missions,  or  on  calls  to  the  sick.  Once 
while  returning  from  a  visit  to  a  rancheria  in  the 
north,  the  story  runs,  he  was  overtaken  near  El 
Toro,  some  twelve  miles  away,  by  the  other  padre 
of  the  mission,  who  rode  in  a  carreta  draw^n  by 
oxen.  On  being  invited  to  get  in  and  ride,  he  re- 
fused and  answered  pleasantly. 

"  'Never  mind,  my  brother,  I  shall  arrive  at  the 
mission  before  you  to  ring  the  Angelus.' 

"The  other  father,  respecting  Padre  Jose's  de- 
sire to  proceed  afoot,  did  not  urge  him  further,  but 
continued  on  his  way  in  the  carreta. 

"Now  in  those  days  El  Camino  Real  came  into 
San  Juan  from  the  north,  not  as  it  does  now,  along 
the  level  side  of  the  Trabuco  Valley,  but  some  rods 
to  the  east,  over  the  rolling  breasts  of  the  lomas. 
From  the  mission  patio  one  may  still  see  the  de- 
pression in  the  hill-top  to  the  northwest  of  the 
mission,  where  the  roadway  came  over  the  swelling 
ground  there,  and  gave  the  weary  traveler  from  the 
north  a  first  full  view^  of  the  mission.  When  the 
father  in  the  carreta  reached  this  point  on  the  King's 
Highway,  it  was  just  the  hour  for  the  Angelus,  and 
promptly  on  the  moment  the  bells  rang  out  the 
three-fold  call  to  prayer.  Wondering  w^ho  could 
have  rung  the  Angelus  in  the  absence  of  both 
fathers,  he  hastened  forward  and  found  that  Father 

174 


o 

Pi  ^ 

^^ 
'J  >. 

M   bo 

-I    O 

31 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

Zalvidea,  true  to  his  word,  had  reached  the  mission 
before  him;  but  how  he  did  so  to  this  day  remains 
a  mystery. 

"Another  of  the  traditions  is  as  follows:  There 
lived  with  her  parents  near  the  mission  an  Indian 
maid  named  Matilda,  who  was  very  gentle  and  de- 
vout and  who  loved  to  care  for  the  sanctuary  and 
to  keep  fresh  flowers  upon  the  altars.  She  took 
sick,  however,  and  died  just  at  the  break  of  day. 
Immediately,  in  order  to  announce  her  departure, 
the  four  bells  all  began  of  their  own  accord,  or 
rather,  by  the  hands  of  angels,  to  ring  together — 
not  merely  the  solemn  tolling  of  the  larger  ones 
for  an  adult  nor  the  joyful  jingling  of  the  two 
smaller  ones  for  a  child,  but  a  mingling  of  the  two, 
to  proclaim  both  the  years  of  her  age  and  the  inno- 
cence of  her  life.  Some  say  it  was  not  the  sound 
of  the  mission  bells  at  all  that  w^as  heard  ringing 
down  the  little  valley  at  dawn,  but  the  bells  in 
heaven  which  rang  out  a  welcome  to  her  pure  soul 
upon  its  entrance  into  the  company  of  the  angels." 

This  church  was  built  of  hewn  stone  and  lime 
mortar,  though  most  of  the  other  buildings  are  of 
adobe. 

Capistrano  has  many  interesting  relics.  There 
are  several  statues,  including  one  of  San  Juan  Capi- 
strano in  military-religious  habit,  and  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  In  the  library  are  numerous  illuminated 
books  done  by  the  old-time  monks,  who  always 
ended  their  work  with  a  flamboyant  "Laus  Deo." 
There  are  numerous  old  paintings  of  doubtful  value 
and  several  beautiful  silver  candlesticks. 

The  story  of  the  mission  is  soon  told,  for  it 

175 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

was  very  much  like  that  of  every  other.  It  was 
founded  in  November,  1776,  Father  Serra  himself 
taking  part  in  the  ceremonies.  Ten  years  later 
there  were  five  hundred  and  forty-four  Indians  un- 
der the  padres,  who  had  made  good  progress  in  the 
cruder  arts  and  manufactures  as  well  as  agriculture. 
The  beautiful  church  was  consecrated  w^ith  great 
ceremony  in  1 806  and  was  destroyed  just  six  years 
later.  It  w^as  the  first  of  all  to  be  "secularized." 
"The  administration  of  the  mission,"  w^rites  Father 
O'Sullivan,  "passed  from  the  fathers  into  the  hands 
of  salaried  state  officials  and  it  was  only  a  short 
time  until  the  lands  and  even  the  buildings  them- 
selves were  sold  off  and  the  Indians  sent  adrift. 
Some  years  later,  1  862,  smallpox  appeared  among 
them  and  almost  entirely  w^iped  them  out  of  exist- 
ence, so  that  to-day  not  half  a  dozen  San  Juaneros 
remain  in  the  vicinity  of  the  mission."  Even  this 
pitiful  remnant  has  disappeared  since  the  foregoing 
words  w^ere  written.  On  our  last  visit.  Father 
O'Sullivan  told  us  that  on  that  very  day  he  had 
buried  the  last  descendant  of  the  once  numerous 
San  Juan  Mission  Indians.  "Surely,"  said  he,  "the 
day  marks  the  end  of  an  era  in  the  history  of  San 
Juan  Capistrano  Mission,  since  it  w^itnesses  the 
utter  extinction  of  the  race  of  people  for  whose  wel- 
fare this  mission  came  into  existence." 

It  was  a  lowering  evening  as  we  left  after  our 
first  visit.  The  sky  had  become  overcast  by  a  dark 
cloud  rolling  in  from  the  sea  and  raindrops  began 
to  patter  on  the  ruin  about  us.  "I  am  sorry  to 
have  the  weather  interfere  with  your  pleasure  trip," 
said  Father  O'Sullivan,  "but  I  know  that  you  your- 

176 


RUINS    OF   CAPISTRANO    CHURCH    BY   MOONLIGHT 
From    Photograph    by    Putnam    &    Valentine 


THE  SAN  DIEGO  COAST  ROUTE 

selves  would  welcome  the  rain  if  you  understood 
how  badly  it  is  needed  here."  And  so  we  cheer- 
fully splashed  over  the  sixty  miles  of  wet  roads, 
reaching  Los  Angeles  by  lamplight. 

We  made  other  pilgrimages  to  San  Juan  Capi- 
strano  under  more  favorable  weather  conditions, 
for  the  road  is  a  lovely  one.  I  have  already  told  of 
a  trip  through  the  charming  country  to  Santa  Ana 
through  the  orange,  lemon,  and  walnut  groves  that 
crowd  up  to  the  road  much  of  the  way.  Beyond 
Santa  Ana  there  are  fewer  fruit  trees;  here  grain 
fields  and  huge  tracts  of  lima  beans  predominate. 
The  latter  are  a  Southern  California  staple,  and  it 
was  some  time  before  we  learned  what  they  were 
planting  w^ith  w^heeled  seeders  the  latter  part  of 
May.  The  beans  usually  mature  wthout  rain  or 
irrigation — a  crop  that  seldom  fails.  The  country 
in  the  main  is  flat  and  uninteresting  between  Santa 
Ana  and  Capistrano,  but  there  is  always  the  joy 
and  inspiration  of  the  distant  mountains.  On  one 
shimmering  forenoon  we  saw  a  remarkable  mirage 
in  this  vicinity — the  semblance  of  a  huge  lake  with 
trees  and  green  rushes  appearing  in  the  distance. 
It  receded  as  we  advanced  and  finally  faded  away. 
Its  startling  distinctness  forcibly  recalled  the  stories 
we  had  read  of  travelers  being  deceived  and  tor- 
mented by  this  strange  apparition  in  waterless 
deserts. 


177 


IX 
SANTA  BARBARA 

San  Gabriel  and  San  Fernando  we  had  already 
visited  in  our  rambles  out  of  Los  Angeles.  The 
next  link  in  the  chain  is  Ventura,  seventy-two  miles 
to  the  north.  From  there  we  planned  to  follow  El 
Camino  Real  beyond  the  Golden  Gate  to  Sonoma, 
w^here  San  Francisco  de  Asis,  the  last  and  remotest 
of  all,  passed  its  short  existence — and  it  proved  in 
all  a  journey  of  nearly  two  thousand  miles  before 
we  returned  to  the  City  of  the  Angels.  A  day  or 
two  was  spent  in  preparation,  studying  our  maps, 
packing  our  trunks,  and  tuning  up  the  car  for  the 
rough  roads  and  stiff  grades  that  it  must  soon  en- 
counter. We  were  in  high  anticipation  of  a  glorious 
trip,  for  had  we  not  already  felt  the  lure  of  the 
open  road  in  Calfornia? — and  when  an  old-time 
friend  and  his  charming  wife  accepted  our  invita- 
tion to  accompany  us,  our  cup  of  happiness  w^as 
full. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  say  that  it  was  a  beautiful 
day  when  we  finally  set  out ;  all  California  days  are 
beautiful  after  the  first  of  May  and  call  for  no 
special  remark.  Leaving  Hollywood,  with  its 
gorgeous  banks  of  bloom,  w^e  crossed  over  Ca- 
huenga  Pass  into  San  Fernando  Valley.  Of  this  I 
have  written  elsewhere,  but  it  looked  even  better 
than  when  we  visited  it  last ;  the  barley  fields  were 
maturing  and  the  olive  and  apricot  groves  promised 

178 


SANTA  BARBARA 

a  generous  crop.     Along  the  road  the  roses  were 
in  bloom  and  here  and  there  new  houses  were  going 
up.     Lankershim  and  Van  Nuys  are  clean,  modern 
towns  joined  by  the  splendid  new  boulevard  and 
show  many  signs  of  making  good  the  numerous 
sweeping  claims  which  they  advertise  on  billboards 
near  at  hand.     Beyond  Calabasas  we  entered  the 
hills  and  pursued  a  winding  course  through  a  maze 
of  wooded  canyons.     On  either  hand  were  mag- 
nificent  oaks,    which    often   overarched   the   road. 
Under  one  of  the  noblest  of  these — four  or  five  feet 
in  diameter,  with  a  spread  of  perhaps  one  hundred 
and  fifty  feet — we  paused  for  our  noonday  lunch, 
while  the  birds  among  the  branches  furnished  a  con- 
cert for  our  benefit.      This  hill  country  was  but 
thinly  populated  and  the  little  ranches  which  we 
occasionally  passed  had  anything  but  a  prosperous 
look.    It  has  show^n  a  marked  improvement  in  many 
ways  since  the  completion  of  the  new  state  high- 
way, work  on  which  began  shortly  after  the  time  of 
which  I  write. 

The  long  easy  loops  of  the  Canejo  Pass  led  us 
from  the  hills  to  the  beautiful  Santa  Clara  Valley, 
affording  an  unrivalled  view  as  w^e  descended. 
This  grade  is  four  miles  long  and,  while  not  very 
steep  at  any  point,  is  dangerous  because  of  its  many 
turns  and  precipitous  sides,  which  in  places  drop 
almost  sheer  for  hundreds  of  feet.  A  notice  at  the 
top  restricts  speed  to  four  miles  per  hour,  which, 
if  obeyed,  would  require  just  an  hour  for  the  de- 
scent— an  example  of  the  ridiculous  extremes  of 
many  of  the  "speed  limits."  A  Ventura  garage 
man  told  me  that  a  few  years  ago  a  driver  made  a 

179 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

wager  that  he  could  "do  the  Cane  jo"  at  thirty  miles 
an  hour — a  piece  of  folly  that  resulted  in  his  death 
as  well  as  that  of  a  companion  who  w^as  riding  with 
him.  We  ourselves  had  ocular  demonstration  that 
the  descent  might  be  dangerous,  for  we  saw^  parts 
of  a  wrecked  car  near  the  middle  of  the  grade  and 
also  the  tackle  used  for  hauling  it  up  the  steep  bank 
down  which  it  had  tumbled.  The  Canejo  has  since 
been  paved  and  the  grades  and  sharp  turns  so 
greatly  reduced  that  one  may  do  twenty-five  miles 
per  hour  with  far  less  risk  than  twelve  under  the  old 
conditions. 

In  the  valley  the  road  was  straight  and  level 
for  many  miles  and  bordered  much  of  the  way  by 
giant  eucalyptus  trees.  The  eucalyptus,  so  com- 
mon in  Southern  California,  is  a  wonderfully  quick 
grower  and  serves  some  very  useful  purposes, 
especially  for  piles  in  sea  water,  since  the  teredo  will 
not  attack  it.  On  either  side  of  the  road  were  vast 
fields  of  lima  beans;  one  tract,  we  were  told,  com- 
prising more  than  four  thousand  acres.  Here  again 
we  saw  a  distant  mirage — waves  i  of  the  sea  appar- 
ently sweeping  over  the  low,  level  ground  before 
us.  We  soon  came  in  sight  of  the  ocean  and  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Oxnard — the  beet-sugar  town — a  few 
miles  off  the  main  road. 

There  are  two  alternate  routes  w^hich  every 
tourist  should  take  should  he  make  subsequent  trips 
between  Ventura  and  Los  Angeles.  One  of  these 
follows  the  San  Fernando  Boulevard  to  San  Fer- 
nando town.  Here  one  takes  the  road  past  the  old 
mission — about  a  mile  from  the  town — and  leaves 
the  valley  a  few  miles  farther  through  the  Santa 

180 


SANTA  BARBARA 

Susana  Pass  over  a  moderate  grade — practically  the 
only  unimproved  section  of  this  road.  The  high- 
way continues  through  the  wayside  hamlets  of 
Simi,  Moorpark  and  Saticoy,  running  through  a 
well-improved  and  fertile  valley  and  joining  the 
state  road  a  few  miles  south  of  Ventura. 

The  other  route  follows  the  San  Fernando 
Boulevard  through  Newhall  Tunnel  past  Saugus  to 
Castaic,  where  it  branches  to  the  left.  It  takes  us 
through  the  fine  fruit-growing  and  farming  country 
of  the  Santa  Clara  Valley  and  the  well-improved 
towns  of  Fillmore  and  Santa  Paula.  Near  Camulos 
Station  on  the  S.  P.  R.  R.  is  the  famous  old  Spanish 
ranch  house  of  the  same  name  which  served  Helen 
Hunt  Jackson  as  the  prototype  of  the  early  home 
of  Ramona.  It  is  said  to  be  the  best  example  extant 
in  Southern  California  of  the  hospitable  home  of 
the  old-time  Spanish  grandee  and  one  may  read  a 
very  accurate  description  of  it  in  Mrs.  Jackson's 
novel.  It  was  formerly  freely  shown  to  tourists, 
but  frequent  acts  of  vandalism  led  the  owner  to 
close  the  house  to  practically  all  comers. 

The  Santa  Clara  Valley  road  is  now  all  im- 
proved and  is  bordered  with  some  of  the  finest  fruit 
ranches  in  Southern  California.  It  has  been  very 
interesting  to  the  writer  to  note  how  the  improve- 
ment of  the  highways  to  which  I  have  just  referred 
has  been  followed  by  the  improvement  of  the 
country  and  villages  through  which  they  pass.  We 
made  our  first  runs  through  these  valleys  when 
there  was  little  but  sandy  trails  to  guide  us  and  our 
impression  of  the  towns  and  ranches  was  far  from 
favorable.     No  stronger  argument  could  be  made 

181 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

in  favor  of  highway  improvement  than  to  cite  the 
rapid  strides  made  in  these  valleys  immediately 
following  the  coming  of  better  roads. 

Our  first  impression  of  Ventura,  with  its  broad 
streets  and  flower-girded  cottages,  was  wholly  fav- 
orable, nor  have  we  any  occasion  to  alter  it  after 
several  visits.  It  is  a  quiet,  prosperous  town  of 
over  four  thousand  people  according  to  the  census 
— which  rapidly  becomes  inaccurate  in  California 
— and  depends  mostly  on  the  productive  country 
about  it,  though  it  is  gaining  some  fame  as  a  resort. 
The  new  county  courthouse,  a  white  stone  palace 
fronting  the  sea  from  the  hillside  above  the  town, 
is  of  classic  design  and  cost,  we  were  told,  a  quarter 
of  a  million  dollars.  It  would  be  an  ornament  to  a 
city  ten  times  the  size  of  Ventura  and  is  a  fine 
illustration  of  the  civic  pride  of  these  California 
communities.  The  situation  of  the  tow^n  is  charm- 
ing indeed — on  a  slight  rise  overlooking  the  shim- 
mering summer  sea  and  just  below  a  range  of  pic- 
turesque hills. 

The  chief  historic  attraction  is  the  old  mission 
of  San  Buenaventura,  which  gives  its  name  to  the 
town  and  which  was  founded  by  Father  Serra  him- 
self in  1  782.  It  reached  the  zenith  of  prosperity 
in  1816,  when  the  neophytes  numbered  thirteen 
hundred  and  thirty.  The  result  of  secularization 
here  was  the  same  as  elsewhere:  the  property  was 
confiscated  and  the  Indians  scattered.  In  1843  it 
was  restored  to  the  padres,  who  eked  out  a  mod- 
erate living  until  the  American  occupation. 

All  the  buildings  of  the  mission  have  dis- 
appeared except  the  church,  w^hich  lately  was  re- 

182 


SANTA  BARBARA 

stored  and  renovated  quite  out  of  its  ancient  self. 
The  interior  is  now  that  of  a  rather  gaudy  Catholic 
chapel  and  most  of  the  relics  of  early  days  have 
been  lost.  It  is  situated  in  the  midst  of  the  tov^n 
and  the  priest's  house  and  garden  adjoin  it.  In  the 
latter  is  a  fig  tree  vv^hich  has  survived  since  the 
mission  days.  Taken  altogether,  San  Buenaven- 
tura is  one  of  the  most  modernized  and  least  inter- 
esting of  the  entire  chain.  Its  redeeming  feature 
is  the  beautiful  bell-tower,  though  the  old-time  bells 
are  gone.  The  church  is  now  in  daily  use  and  had 
a  great  display  of  wooden  figures  and  lighted  can- 
dles when  we  saw  it. 

Leaving  the  town  we  took  the  new  Rincon 
"cut  off"  road  following  the  coast  to  Santa  Barbara 
and  avoiding  the  Casitas  Pass — long  a  terror  to 
motorists.  We  took  the  Casitas  route  on  another 
occasion  and  while  the  road  was  narrow,  rough  and 
steep  in  places,  with  many  sharp  turns,  we  have 
done  so  many  worse  mountain  trails  since  that  the 
recollection  is  not  very  disquieting.  Just  across  the 
river  we  passed  through  a  beautiful  wooded  park, 
the  gift  of  a  public-spirited  citizen  now  deceased. 
Beyond  this  we  began  the  ascent  of  the  first  hill 
range — East  Casitas — which  is  rather  the  steeper 
of  the  two.  But  all  the  disadvantages  of  the  road 
are  atoned  for  by  the  shady  nooks,  the  wild  flowers 
and  the  magnificent  outlooks  from  frequent  van- 
tage points,  especially  from  the  eastern  summit. 
Here  one  looks  for  miles  over  wooded  hills  abloom 
with  the  pale  lavender  of  the  wild  lilac  and  fading 
away,  range  after  range,  into  the  blue  and  purple 

haze  of  the  distance.     West  Casitas  is  practically 

183 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

a  repetition  of  East  so  far  as  the  climb  and  descent 
are  concerned;  in  all  there  were  about  seven  miles 
of  moderately  heavy  grades  before  we  came  into 
the  level  roads  through  the  walnut  and  lemon 
groves  on  the  western  side.  We  agreed  that  Casitas 
Pass  was  w^ell  worth  doing  once  or  twice,  but  gen- 
erally the  Rincon  road  is  to  be  preferred. 

The  coc.  t  road  was  opened  in  the  summer  of 
1912,  and  was  made  possible  by  the  construction 
of  more  than  a  mile  of  plank  causeway  around  cliffs 
jutting  into  the  sea  and  over  inlets  too  deep  to  fill. 
The  county  of  Ventura  contributed  fifty  thousand 
dollars  to  the  work  and  an  equal  amount  was  raised 
by  subscription.  It  closely  follow^s  the  shore  for 
the  whole  distance  and  is  about  nine  miles  shorter 
than  the  mountain  route.  It  was  quite  unimproved 
at  the  time  we  first  traversed  it,  and  really  rougher 
than  the  Casitas  road. 

The  Rincon  Route,  as  it  is  called,  has  since 
been  paved  and  now  carries  practically  all  traffic 
between  Ventura  and  Santa  Barbara.  It  affords  a 
glorious  drive  along  a  sea  of  marvelous  light  and 
color  and  the  long  shelving  boulder-strewn  beach 
is  a  popular  camping  and  play  ground.  This  route 
may  lack  the  thrills  and  rugged  scenery  of  the  Casi- 
tas Pass  road,  but  its  smooth  level  stretches  appeal 
to  the  average  motorist  and  the  usually  bad  condi- 
tion of  the  Casitas  is  another  deterrent  to  its  fre- 
quent use. 

Both  routes  converge  at  Carpinteria,  about 
twelve  miles  south  of  Santa  Barbara.  This  little 
village  has  two  distinct  settlements.  The  site  of  the 
old  Spanish  settlement  was  visited  by  the  Monterey 

184 


v;    O 
i5   O 


^  £ 


SANTA  BARBARA 

expedition  as  early  as  1  769  and  was  named  "Carp- 
interia" — carpenter's  shop— because  some  Indians 
were  building  a  canoe  at  the  spot.  The  newer 
American  community  is  more  thriving  and  up-to- 
date. 

A  little  to  the  northwest  of  the  village  is  a 
monster  grapevine  famed  throughout  the  section 
as  the  Titan  of  its  class.  It  is  near  a  farmhouse 
just  off  the  main  road  and  we  turned  in  to  view  it. 
The  enormous  trunk  is  ten  feet  in  girth  and  the 
vines  cover  a  trellis  one  hundred  feet  square.  Its 
maximum  crop,  said  the  farmer,  was  fourteen  tons 
a  few  years  ago — enough  to  make  a  big  carload. 
One  single  cluster,  of  which  he  showed  us  a  photo- 
graph, weighed  no  less  than  twelve  pounds.  The 
average  yearly  crop  is  ten  to  fifteen  tons.  Legend 
has  it  that  it  was  hrst  planted  in  1 809,  in  which  case 
it  would  be  a  little  more  than  a  centenarian.  It  is 
of  the  mission  variety  and  shows  no  signs  of  decay. 
A  comparison  of  the  trunk  with  the  old  man  shown 
in  our  picture  should  substantiate  at  least  one  "tall 
California  story." 

A  year  or  two  later  we  paused  to  view  it  again, 
only  to  find  the  dead  trunk  remaining  as  a  sad  wit- 
ness of  its  former  glory.  The  immense  crop  of 
fruit  that  it  had  borne  the  previous  year  had  so 
sapped  its  vitality  that  it  withered  and  died. 

At  Summerland,  a  few  miles  farther,  is  the 
curious  phenomenon  of  large  oil  derricks  standing 
in  the  ocean.  Here  are  prolific  oil  wells  beneath  the 
water  and  the  oil  gives  the  surface  an  opalescent 
appearance  for  some  distance  from  the  shore.  The 
place    was    originally    founded    as    a    spiritualist 

185 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

colony,  but  for  lack  of  the  promotive  genius  of  a 
Madame  Tingley,  it  never  throve.  Possibly  the 
creaking  oil  pumps  and  pungent  odors  of  the  vicin- 
ity had  something  to  do  with  the  disappearance  of 
mediums  and  their  ghostly  visitants. 

On  reaching  Santa  Barbara  we  decided  on  the 
new   Arlington   Hotel,    an   imposing   structure    of 
solid  concrete  and  dark  red  brick,  the  design  follow- 
ing mission  lines  generally.     The  towers  are  beauti- 
ful copies  of  those  of  the  Santa  Barbara  Mission 
and  the  roof  is  of  dark  red  tiling  modeled  after  the 
antique  pattern  of  the  padres.     The  plainness  of 
the  mission,   while   carried   throughout,   is   every- 
where combined  with  elegance  and  comfort.     The 
interior  of  the  public  rooms  is  decidedly  unique,  the 
finish  being  dark  brown  brick  and  cement,  without 
wood  trimming  of  any  kind.     Our  rooms  were  fur- 
nished plainly  but  comfortably;  the  doors  were  of 
undressed  lumber  stained  dark  brown  and  furnished 
with  heavy  wrought-iron  hinges,  latches  and  locks. 
In  such  a  land  of  plenty  and  variety  of  food  prod- 
ucts as  California,  it  is  not  strange  that  the  better 
hotels  are  famous  for  their  "cuisine,"  as  the  hand- 
books style  it.     The  Arlington  is  no  exception  to 
the  rule,  and  the  quiet  and  attentive  young  w^ait- 
resses  add  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  dining-room. 
The  first  query  of  the  stranger  in  Santa  Bar- 
bara is  for  the  mission  and  no  sooner  had  we  re- 
moved the  stains  of  travel — and  they  are  plentiful 
when  you  motor  over  the  dusty  roads  of  California 
— and  arrayed  ourselves  in  fresh  raiment  than  we, 
too,  sought  the  famous  shrine.     An    electric    car 
leads  almost  to  its  door;  or,  one  will  find  the  walk 

186 


ARCADE,    SANTA   BARBARA 
From   Photograph    by   Dassonville 


SANTA  BARBARA 

of  a  mile  a  pleasant  variation  after  several  hours  on 
the  roads. 

You  have  the  impression  of  being  familiar 
with  Santa  Barbara  Mission  even  before  you  have 
seen  it,  for  I  doubt  if  there  is  any  other  object  in 
California  that  has  been  photographed  and  illus- 
trated in  greater  variety.  Its  position  is  a  superb 
one,  on  a  hillside  looking  down  on  the  town  and 
fronting  the  glorious  channel.  From  its  tower  bal- 
conies you  may  have  one  of  the  finest  view^s  to  be 
seen  in  a  land  of  magnificent  view^s  and  you  can  not 
but  admire  the  wisdom  of  the  old  padres  in  selecting 
the  site  when  Santa  Barbara  was  nothing  but  a  col- 
lection of  Indian  hovels.  Directly  in  front  of  the 
mission  is  the  ancient  fountain  and  below  it  a  huge 
tank  in  which  the  natives  washed  their  clothes — a 
practice  to  w^hich  they  vsrere  little  addicted  before 
the  padres  came. 

Entering  the  heavy  oaken  doors,  w^e  found 
system  here  for  handling  the  troops  of  tourists  who 
come  almost  daily;  the  guide  had  just  gone  with  a 
party  and  we  must  wait  his  return.  In  the  mean- 
while we  found  plenty  to  interest  us,  for  there  were 
many  old  paintings,  books,  and  other  objects  on 
exhibit.  Our  guide  soon  arrived — a  spare-looking 
old  priest  who  spoke  with  a  German  accent;  he 
was  very  courteous  and  kindly,  but  not  so  com- 
municative as  we  might  wish  a  guide  to  be  in  such 
a  place.  He  led  us  first  to  the  church,  a  huge  apart- 
ment forty  by  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  feet, 
gaudily  painted  in  Indian  designs.  It  is  built  of 
stone  with  enormously  heavy  walls — six  feet  thick 
— supported  by  buttresses  nine  feet  square.      Its 

187 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

predecessor  was  destroyed  by  an  earthquake  and  it 
would  seem  that  in  the  new  structure  the  fathers 
strove  to  guard  against  a  second  disaster  of  the  kind. 
The  interior  had  been  modernized  and  the  decora- 
tions reproduce  as  nearly  as  possible  the  original 
Indian  designs.  There  are  numerous  carved  figures 
and  paintings  brought  from  Spain  and  Mexico  in 
an  early  day.  One  of  the  paintings  is  a  remarkable 
antique,  representing  the  Trinity  by  three  figures, 
each  the  exact  counterpart  of  the  other.  A  stair- 
way leads  to  one  of  the  towers  and  as  we  ascended 
we  noted  the  solidity  of  the  construction,  concrete 
and  stone  being  the  only  materials  employed.  We 
were  shown  the  mission  bells,  two  of  which  are  one 
hundred  years  old,  suspended  by  rawhide  thongs 
from  the  beams  on  the  roof.  There  is  a  magnificent 
view  from  the  tower,  covering  the  town  and  a  wide 
scope  of  country  and  extending  seaward  to  the 
islands  beyond  the  channel.  Descending,  we  were 
conducted  into  the  cemetery  garden  where,  the 
guide  told  us,  were  buried  no  less  than  four  thou- 
sand Indians  during  mission  days.  It  is  a  peaceful 
spot  now,  beautiful  with  flowers  and  shrubbery  and 
affording  a  quiet  retreat  for  the  monks.  There  are 
many  rare  trees  and  shrubs  and  we  were  especially 
interested  in  a  giant  datura  as  old,  perhaps,  as  the 
cemetery.  In  one  corner  is  a  mausoleum  where 
the  fathers  have  been  buried  since  the  founding  of 
the  mission.  Some  thirty  have  been  laid  to  rest 
here  and  only  five  crypts  remained  unoccupied  at 
the  time  of  our  visit. 

In  the  court  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  church 
is  the  garden  which,  according  to  an  ancient  rule, 

188 


THE    OLD   CEMETERY.    SANTA   BARBARA 
From    Photograph    by   Putnam   &    Valentine 


d 


SANTA  BARBARA 

no  woman  may  enter  save  the  "reigning  queen," 
though  after  the  American  conquest  this  was  ex- 
tended to  include  the  wife  of  the  President,  and  the 
priest  told  us  with  pride  that  Mrs.  Benjamin  Harri- 
son availed  herself  of  the  privilege.  By  a  some- 
what wide  interpretation  of  the  "reigning  queen" 
rule,  Princess  Louise,  wife  of  the  Governor-Gener- 
al of  Canada,  was  also  admitted  once  upon  a  time. 
We  recall  a  similar  rule  in  Durham  Cathedral  and 
it  seems  that  the  monks  of  the  Old  World  and  New 
did  not  always  feel  proof  against  feminine  charms. 
One  of  the  old  Franciscan  fathers,  however,  took 
quite  a  different  view  of  the  matter. 

"It  seems,"  he  said,  "that  since  our  Mother 
Eve,  through  her  fatal  curiosity  brought  upon  her 
daughters  the  curse  of  expulsion  from  Eden,  the 
Franciscan  order  does  not  subject  any  other  woman 
to  similar  temptation." 

While  not  permitted  to  enter  the  garden  our- 
selves, we  were  able  to  get  a  very  satisfactory 
"bird's-eye"  view  of  it  from  the  tower  balcony. 

The  mission  now  is  a  Franciscan  college  for 
monks  and  at  the  time  of  our  visit  there  were  forty- 
nine  brothers  in  all.  It  is  a  center  of  Catholic  learn- 
ing in  California,  having  a  valuable  library  which 
contains  most  of  the  sources  of  mission  history. 
Among  these  Father  Zephyrin  Engelhardt  labors 
daily  upon  his  great  work  on  "The  Franciscan  Mis- 
sions of  California."  Of  this  he  has  already  pub- 
lished three  large  volumes  which  are  recognized  as 
a  valuable  contribution  to  American  history,  and  a 
fourth  is  soon  to  follow.     There  are  also  illumin- 

189 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

ated  missals  from  Spain  and  Old  Mexico  and  other 
rare  volumes  of  considerable  value. 

The  fathers  and  their  students  do  all  the  work 
necessary  to  keep  up  their  establishment  and  its 
gardens.  Each  one  learns  some  particular  trade 
or  work  and  does  not  shrink  from  the  hardest  physi- 
cal labor.  The  buildings  and  grounds  are  being 
improved  and  beautified  each  year  and  Santa  Bar- 
bara seems  to  be  the  one  mission  where  ideal  con- 
ditions prevail  for  the  care  of  the  property  and  the 
preservation  of  the  traditions  of  early  days.  Very 
appropriately  it  still  remains  in  charge  of  the  Fran- 
ciscans, a  rather  uncommon  distinction  shared  with 
San  Luis  Rey  alone. 

Santa  Barbara  was  founded  in  1 786,  four 
years  after  Father  Serra's  death.  The  present 
church  was  completed  in  1 820  and  is  described  by 
Father  Engelhardt  as  "probably  the  most  solid 
structure  of  its  kind  in  California."  The  Indian 
population  of  the  mission  was  at  its  maximum  in 
1 803,  numbering  seventeen  hundred  and  ninety- 
two  souls.  The  secularization  decree  took  place 
in  1 834,  at  which  time  the  property  was  valued  at 
a  little  in  excess  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
So  notably  was  the  Mexican  program  a  failure  at 
Santa  Barbara  that  ten  years  later  the  property  was 
restored  to  the  padres;  but  the  Indians  were  scat- 
tered, the  w^ealth  dissipated,  and  the  building 
in  a  sad  state  of  disrepair.  Less  than  three  hundred 
natives  remained  and  these  gained  a  living  w^ith 
difficulty.  Three  years  afterwards  the  governor 
sold  the  property  to  a  private  party  for  seventy-five 

190 


SANTA  BARBARA 

hundred  dollars ;  but  after  the  American  occupation 
it  was  returned  to  the  church. 

The  arcade  fronting  the  sea,  the  cloisters  part- 
ly surrounding  the  garden,  and  a  few  other  portions 
of  the  original  buildings  remain,  but  the  present 
dormitory  is  modern.  The  decree  authorizing  the 
college  was  issued  by  Rome  more  than  fifty  years 
ago  and  the  restoration  work  proceeded  but  slowly, 
being  done  largely  by  the  fathers  and  their  students. 
Father  O'Keefe,  the  kindly  old  priest  whom  we  met 
at  San  Luis  Rey,  directed  much  of  the  work  and 
pushed  it  to  completion.  His  excellent  record  here 
resulted  in  his  transfer  to  the  southern  mission 
w^here,  as  we  have  seen,  he  was  also  singularly 
successful. 

Before  we  departed  we  purchased  a  copy  of 
Father  Engelhardt's  history  and  left  our  modest 
contribution  as  well,  for  the  Franciscan  fathers, 
who  have  so  faithfully  labored  to  restore  and  pro- 
tect this  beautiful  old  mission  and  who  show  such 
courtesy  to  the  visiting  stranger,  have  no  source  of 
income  except  voluntary  gifts. 

Coming  out,  we  paused  awhile  to  admire  the 
sunset  bay  from  the  arcade  and  then  wended  oui 
way  along  flower-bordered  walks  to  our  hotel. 

There  is  no  other  town  of  the  size  in  California 
— or  scarcely  of  any  size,  for  that  matter — that  has 
about  it  such  a  wonderful  series  of  drives  and  walks 
as  Santa  Barbara. 

At  the  time  of  our  first  visit  some  of  these 
were  closed  to  motors  and  as  a  guide  seemed  almost 
a  necessity,  we  decided  to  abandon  the  car  for  the 
novelty   of   a   horse-drawn   vehicle.      We   had   no 

191 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

trouble  at  all  in  finding  one  for  there  were  a  host  of 
Jehus  on  the  street  who  recognized  us  as  tourists  at 
sight  and  eagerly  hailed  us  as  possible  customers. 
We  chose  the  oldest  fellow  of  all,  partly  out  of  sym- 
pathy and  partly  because  we  liked  his  face,  and  it 
proved  a  more  fortunate  selection  than  we  sus- 
pected at  the  time.  He  was  an  old-time  Calif  ornian, 
having  crossed  the  plains  with  his  parents  in  1 854, 
when  a  child  of  six.  He  had  an  adventurous  career, 
beginning  with  that  time,  for  he  was  stolen  from 
the  camp  by  a  band  of  Indians  and  recovered  two 
days  later  by  the  pioneers  after  a  sharp  fight.  He 
had  been  in  the  midst  of  the  mining  maelstrom  and 
was  rich  and  poor  half  a  dozen  times — poor  the 
last  time,  he  declared,  and  now  the  condition  had 
become  chronic.  He  had  lived  in  Santa  Barbara 
thirty  years  and  not  only  knew  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  town  and  vicinity,  but  could  tell  who 
lived  in  the  houses  and  many  bits  of  interesting 
history  and  gossip  as  well. 

In  the  forenoon  he  took  us  among  the  fine 
homes  of  the  millionaire  residents,  some  of  which 
reminded  us  not  a  little — though  of  course  on  a 
smaller  scale — of  great  English  estates  we  had  vis- 
ited. But  in  Santa  Barbara  they  have  the  advan- 
tage of  shrubs  and  trees  which  flourish  the  year 
round  and  from  nearly  all  there  is  a  perennial  view 
of  summer  sea,  always  beautiful  and  inspiring. 
The  grounds  of  many  of  these  places  are  open  to 
visitors  and  some  are  marvelously  beautiful;  the 
climate  admits  of  great  possibilities  in  landscape- 
gardening  in  the  free  use  of  semi-tropical  shrubs, 
palms,  flowers,  and  fruit  trees. 

192 


SANTA  BARBARA 

Our  guide  then  took  us  through  the  grounds 
of  the  Miramar  Hotel  Colony,  if  I  may  so  describe 
it.  Here  a  wooded  hill  on  the  shore  is  covered  with 
a  group  of  cottages,  which  are  rented  by  guests  who 
get  their  meals  at  a  central  building — a  plan  that 
affords  the  advantages  of  privacy  and  outdoor  life 
without  the  cares  of  housekeeping. 

Of  course  we  visited  the  Gillespie  house  and 
gardens — "El  Furiedes,"  which  may  be  roughly 
translated  as  "pleasure  garden" — ^which,  after  the 
mission,  is  probably  the  most  distinctive  attraction 
of  Santa  Barbara.  The  gardens  cover  about  forty 
acres  and  contain  a  great  variety  of  rare  flowers, 
shrubs,  and  trees  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  In 
places  these  form  tangled  thickets  where  one  might 
easily  lose  himself  if  not  familiar  with  the  w^inding 
paths.  Quiet  pools  play  an  important  part  in  the 
decorative  scheme,  and  these  w^ere  beautified  with 
rare  water  plants,  among  them  the  Egyptian  lotus. 
In  the  center  of  the  grounds  is  the  house,  built  along 
the  lines  of  a  Roman  villa.  It  is  not  open  to  visitors, 
but  our  guide  declared  that  it  contains  a  costly 
collection  of  antiques  of  all  kinds.  The  main  doors 
are  remarkable  examples  of  carving,  dating  from 
about  1  450,  and  were  taken  from  a  Moorish  temple 
in  Spain.  The  owner  of  this  beautiful  place,  a  New 
York  millionaire,  said  our  guide,  spends  only  a 
small  part  of  his  time  in  Santa  Barbara.  In  the 
meanwhile  the  gardens  are  maintained  at  his  ex- 
pense, and  are  as  easy  of  access  to  visitors  as  a 
public  park. 

Before  returning  to  our  hotel  we  made  the 
round  of  the  city  and  our  driver  pointed  out  some 

193 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

of  the  older  and  more  historic  buildings.  Of  these 
the  de  la  Guerre  mansion  is  the  most  notable  aside 
from  the  mission  itself.  Here  took  place  the  mar- 
riage of  Donna  Anita  to  Senor  Noriega  y  Carillo, 
so  vivaciously  described  by  Dana  in  "Two  Years 
Before  the  Mast."  It  is  a  typical  old-time  Spanish 
residence,  low,  solid,  and  surrounding  the  inevi- 
table court.  We  were  also  shown  the  homes  of 
several  people  of  more  or  less  celebrity  who  live  in 
Santa  Barbara,  among  them  Stewart  Edward 
White,  and  Robert  Cameron  Rogers,  the  poet  and 
author  of  "The  Rosary,"  whose  death  California 
so  sincerely  mourned  a  little  later. 

There  are  many  famous  "Little  Journeys"  out 
of  Santa  Barbara  which  it  would  be  superfluous  to 
describe  in  detail.  There  are  several  good  local 
guidebooks  with  maps  to  be  had  and  the  services 
of  the  Southern  California  Auto  Club  branch  are 
always  available.  You  can  do  most  of  these  ex- 
cursions in  two  or  three  days,  including  a  round 
trip  via  the  San  Marcos  Pass,  to  the  Santa  Ynez 
Mission,  returning  via  Los  Olivos  and  the  Gaviota 
Pass.  I  shall  describe  the  drive  which  we  made  on 
our  first  visit — and  we  made  it  in  an  old-fashioned 
surrey,  for  the  road  was  then  closed  to  motors.  I 
am  glad  that  we  were  forced  to  adopt  that  good  old 
method  of  locomotion,  as  it  gave  us  leisure  to  con- 
template the  beauties  of  the  scenery  that  we  should 
scarce  have  had  in  our  car. 

"Take  the  sixteen-mile  drive,"  says  the  old 
driver.  "It*s  one  of  the  best;  it  is  closed  to  autos 
and  you  can  do  all  the  rest  in  your  car." 

So  it's  the  "sixteen-mile  drive"  for  us,  and  a 

194 


SANTA  BARBARA 

wonderful  panorama  of  green  hills,  wooded  can- 
yons and  calm,  shining  sea  it  proves  to  be.  The 
road  has  many  steep  pitches  and  follows  the  edges 
of  the  hills  like  a  narrow  shelf ;  vehicles  can  pass  in 
but  few  places  and  all  are  required  to  go  in  the  same 
direction.  From  the  summits  we  have  many  far- 
reaching  views  of  hill  and  valley,  whose  brilliant 
greens  are  tempered  by  the  pale  violet  bloom  of  the 
mountain  lilac.  It  is  a  view  very  much  like  some 
w^e  have  seen  and  many  more  we  are  to  see,  but  w^e 
shall  never  weary  of  it.  We  have  gained  something 
of  the  spirit  of  the  good  old  John  Muir.  "Climb  the 
mountains,"  he  urges,  "and  get  their  good  tidings. 
Nature's  peace  will  flow  into  you  as  sunshine  flows 
into  the  trees.  The  winds  will  blow  their  own 
freshness  into  you,  while  cares  will  drop  off  like 
autumn  leaves."  And  so,  as  we  slowly  wind  about 
this  green-bordered  mountain  trail,  we  pause  at 
every  vantage  point  to  contemplate  the  view  and 
finally  the  most  glorious  scene  of  all  breaks  on  our 
vision,  a  panorama  of  wooded  hills  sloping  down 
to  the  summer  sea — ^wonderfully  calm  to-day,  with 
a  curious  effect  of  light  and  color.  Across  its 
mirrorlike  surface  bars  of  steely  blue  light  run  to 
the  channel  islands,  Santa  Cruz  and  Santa  Rosa, 
whose  mountainous  bulk  looms  in  the  amethystine 
haze  of  sunset  some  twenty  miles  away.  Of  the 
channel  before  us  Mr.  John  McGroarty  writes  in  his 
delightful  "History  and  Romance  of  California": 
"Nor  is  this  all  that  makes  the  charm,  the 
beauty,  the  climatic  peace  and  calm  and  the  fas- 
cination of  Santa  Barbara.     Twenty-five  miles  out 

to  sea  a  marine  mountain  range,  twin  sister  of  the 

195 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

Santa  Ynez  on  shore,  rears  its  glowing  peaks  from 
the  tumbhng  billows  in  a  series  of  islands.  So  it  is 
that  Santa  Barbara  faces  not  the  open  sea,  but  a 
channel  or  a  strait  of  the  sea.  Up  into  this  channel 
flows  the  warm  ocean  current  from  the  south  and 
so  adds  its  beneficence  to  complete  the  climatic 
combination  that  keeps  the  spot  snug  and  warm 
and  free  from  all  violence  in  winter,  the  selfsame 
combination  leaving  it  cool  and  refreshing  through 
the  long,  sunny  summers.  So,  also,  do  the  twin 
mountain  ranges — the  one  on  land,  the  other  out 
at  sea — give  Santa  Barbara  a  marine  playground 
as  safe  and  as  placid  as  Lake  Tahoe.  The  channel 
is  a  yachtsman's  paradise.  To  its  long  sweep  of  blue 
waters — a  stretch  of  seventy  miles — come  the 
Pacific-Coast-built  ships  of  the  American  navy  to 
be  tried  out  and  tested  for  speed  and  endurance." 
Returning  to  the  city,  we  followed  Sycamore 
Canyon — rightly  named,  indeed,  for  throughout 
Its  length  is  a  multitude  of  giant  sycamores,  gnarled 
and  twisted  into  a  thousand  fantastic  shapes  like 
trees  of  Dante's  Inferno.  Scattered  among  them 
were  a  few  majestic  live-oaks,  which  gradually  in- 
creased in  numbers  as  we  came  into  the  beautiful 
suburb  of  Montecito,  with  its  handsome  residences 
and  flower-spangled  lawns.  Our  driver  enlightened 
us  on  the  value  of  some  of  the  places  offered  for 
sale,  also  of  numerous  vacant  lots  just  on  the  edge 
of  the  town.  Three  to  five  thousand  per  acre 
seemed  to  be  the  average  sum  that  a  millionaire  was 
asked  to  invest  should  he  desire  to  establish  an 
"estate"  here — prices  quite  as  high  as  was  then  de- 
manded for  similar  property  in  the  neighborhood  of 

196 


SANTA  BARBARA 

Los  Angeles.     And  it  is  not  likely  that  values  will 
cease  to  advance. 

The  completion  of  the  new  highway  has  put 
Santa  Barbara  into  easy  touch  with  the  metropolis 
by  motor  car,  adding  still  farther  to  its  desirability 
as  a  residence  town  for  people  with  leisure  and 
money.  The  distance,  just  one  hundred  miles,  is 
an  easy  three-hours'  drive  and  a  very  popular  Sun- 
day jaunt  from  Los  Angeles  and  frequent  motor 
busses  make  the  trip  daily.  All  of  which  serve  to 
make  Santa  Barbara  a  long-distance  suburb  of  the 
Queen  City  to  a  far  greater  extent  than  it  was  in 
the  days  of  rough  roads  and  the  "dreadful  Casitas 
Pass,"  as  I  heard  it  styled  more  than  once. 

But  here  I  am  going  on  as  if  the  automobile 
w^ere  the  prime  factor  in  making  a  town  prosperous 
— and,  truly,  it  is  hard  for  one  who  has  never  visited 
California  to  understand  what  a  tremendous  utility 
the  motor  car  has  become  in  the  life  of  the  people. 
And,  besides,  this  is  a  motor-travel  book  by  an  ad- 
mitted automobile  crank  and  perhaps  a  little  exag- 
geration of  the  importance  of  the  w^ind-shod  steed 
is  permissible  under  such  circumstances. 

But,  all  levity  aside,  Santa  Barbara,  with  her 
unrivaled  attractions,  her  sheltered  sea,  her  delight- 
ful environment  of  mountain  and  forest,  her  match- 
less climate,  her  palms,  her  roses,  her  historic  as- 
sociations and — not  least  in  our  estimation — the 
rapidly  increasing  mileage  of  fine  roads  about  her, 
is  bound  to  receive  continual  additions  from  the 
ranks  of  the  discriminating  to  her  cultured  and 
prosperous  citizenship. 


197 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

Leaving  Santa  Barbara  for  the  north,  we 
turned  aside  a  little  way  out  of  the  town  into  the 
entrance  of  Hope  Ranch,  a  beautiful  park  which 
was  then  being  exploited  as  a  residence  section. 
Here  are  several  hundred  acres  of  rolling  hills  stud- 
ded with  some  of  the  finest  oaks  we  had  seen  and 
commanding  glorious  views  of  the  ocean  and 
distant  mountains.  Splendid  boulevards  wind 
through  every  part  of  the  tract.  A  fine  road  runs 
around  a  little  blue  lake  and  leads  up  to  the  country 
club  house  which  stands  on  a  hill  overlooking  the 
valley.  Passing  through  the  tract,  we  soon  came  to 
the  ocean  and,  following  Cliff  Drive,  which  leads 
along  the  shore  for  a  few  miles,  we  found  ourselves 
in  the  grounds  of  the  Potter  Hotel.  The  drive  is 
an  enchanting  one,  with  views  of  rugged  coast  and 
still,  shining  sea  stretching  away  to  the  dim  outlines 
of  the  channel  islands. 

On  our  first  trip  we  chose  the  coast  road  and 
followed  a  fine  new  boulevard  for  a  dozen  miles  out 
of  Santa  Barbara — ^but  beyond  this  it  was  a  differ- 
ent story.  Not  so  bad  as  the  Los  Olivos  garage  man 
declared — "the  worst  in  California" — but  a  choppy 
trail  with  short,  steep  hills  and  stretches  of  adobe 
about  as  rough  as  could  be  from  recent  rains.  At 
the  little  village  of  Gaviota  this  road  swings  inland 
over  Gaviota  Pass,  though  there  is  a  shorter  and 

198 


X   9 


2   = 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

more  direct  route  to  Santa  Ynez,  the  next  mission. 
This  branches  from  the  main  road  about  four  miles 
north  of  Santa  Barbara  and  cuts  directly  across  the 
mountains  through  San  Marcos  Pass.  Probably 
this  was  the  original  Camino  Real,  since  it  is  several 
miles  shorter  than  the  coast  road  and  would  present 
little  difficulty  to  the  man  on  foot  or  horseback,  as 
people  traveled  in  the  brave  old  mission  days. 

On  one  occasion  we  varied  matters  by  taking 
this  route  despite  the  dubious  language  of  the  road- 
book and  the  rather  forbidding  appearance  of  the 
mountain  range  that  blocked  our  way.  We  found 
the  road  quite  as  steep  and  rough  as  represented — 
very  heavy  going  over  grades  up  to  twenty-five  per 
cent,  with  a  multitude  of  dangerous  corners — ^but 
we  felt  ourselves  more  than  repaid  for  our  trouble 
by  the  magnificence  of  the  scenery  and  the  glorious, 
far-reaching  panoramas  that  greeted  us  during  the 
ascent.  It  was  something  of  an  effort  to  turn  from 
a  broad,  smooth  boulevard  into  a  dusty  trail  which 
was  lost  to  view  in  the  giant  hills,  though  we 
solaced  ourselves  with  the  reflection  that  the  boule- 
vard continued  but  a  few  miles  farther.  Fording 
a  little  river — the  great  flood  a  few  weeks  before 
had  swept  away  every  vestige  of  the  bridge — ^we 
ran  for  a  short  distance  over  a  tree-fringed  road 
through  the  valley  and  then  began  the  six-mile 
climb  to  the  summit  of  the  range.  Much  of  the  way 
trees  and  shrubbery  bordered  the  road,  but  at  fre- 
quent intervals  we  came  into  open  spaces  on 
the  mountain  side  which  afforded  some  of  the 
finest  views  we  saw  in  California.     The  day  was 

unusually  clear  and  the  landscape  beneath  us  was 

199 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

wonderfully  distinct  in  the  morning  sun.  A  long 
reach  of  wooded  hills,  dotted  here  and  there  with 
cultivated  fields  and  orchards  surrounding  red- 
roofed  ranch-houses,  stretched  down  to  the  narrow 
plain  along  the  sea.  Upon  this  to  the  southward 
lay  the  town  of  Santa  Barbara  as  an  indistinct  blur 
and  beyond  it  the  still  shining  waters  of  the  channel 
running  out  to  the  island  chain  which  cuts  off  the 
great  waste  of  the  Pacific.  During  our  ascent  we 
paused  many  times  to  cool  our  steaming  motor  and 
saw  the  same  glorious  scene  from  different  view- 
points, each  showing  some  new  and  delightful  vari- 
ation. 

Strenuous  as  was  the  climb,  it  wras  almost  with 
regret  that  w^e  crossed  the  hills  which  finally  shut 
the  panorama  of  mountain  and  sea  from  our  sight. 
The  descent  was  even  steeper  than  the  climb,  but 
there  were  frequent  grassy  dales  starred  with  wild 
flowers  which  broke  the  sharp  pitches,  and  many 
views  of  magnificently  w^ild  scenery  dovv^n  the 
Santa  Ynez  Canyon.  At  the  foot  of  the  grade  we 
came  to  the  river — a  clear,  shallow  stream  dashing 
over  a  w^ide  boulder-strewn  "wash."  We  follow^ed 
the  river  valley  for  some  miles  through  velvety, 
oak-studded  meadows  whose  green  luxuriance  was 
dashed  here  and  there  with  blue  lupines  or  golden 
poppies.  Coming  out  of  the  valley  and  winding 
for  some  distance  among  low^,  rolling  hills  we 
reached  the  lonely  town  of  Santa  Ynez,  vvrhich  w^e 
missed  when  going  by  the  Gaviota  Pass  road.  It 
is  an  ancient-looking  little  place,  innocent  of  rail- 
road trains  and  some  four  miles  distant  from  the 
mission  which  gives  it  the  name. 

200 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

We  shall  never  regret  our  trip  through  San 
Marcos  Pass,  but  if  the  traveler  is  to  make  but  one 
journey  between  Santa  Barbara  and  Los  Olivos, 
he  will  probably  choose  the  coast  road — the  route 
of  the  state  highway — and  if  he  does  not  find  the 
scenery  so  spectacular  as  that  of  San  Marcos,  he 
w^ill  find  it  as  beautiful  and  perhaps  more  varied. 
For  many  miles  this  route  closely  follows  the 
Pacific  and  we  quite  forgot  the  rough  road  in  our 
enthusiasm  for  the  lovely  country  through  which 
we  passed — on  one  hand  the  still,  deep  blue  of  the 
sea  and  on  the  other  green  foothills  stretching  away 
to  the  rugged  ranges  of  the  Santa  Ynez  Mountains. 

Near  the  village  of  Naples  we  were  surprised 
to  see  a  lonely  country  church,  solidly  built  of 
yellowish  stone,  standing  on  a  hilltop.  Its  Norman 
style,  with  low,  square  tower  and  quaint  gargoyles, 
seemed  reminiscent  of  Britain  rather  than  Cali- 
fornia. And,  indeed,  we  learned  that  it  was  built 
years  ago  by  an  English  resident  of  the  locality, 
who  doubtless  drew  his  inspiration  from  the  Mother 
Country.  But,  alas  for  his  ambitions,  his  costly 
structure  is  now  quite  abandoned  and  serves  the 
humble  purpose  of  a  hay-barn,  though  it  is,  and 
may  be  for  ages,  a  picturesque  feature  of  the  land- 
scape. 

We  supposed  that  Naples,  like  its  southern 
namesake,  would  prove  a  modern  seaside  resort, 
but  we  found  only  a  group  of  whitewashed  build- 
ings surrounding  an  unpretentious  inn.  It  seemed 
a  quiet,  cleanly  little  hamlet  and  its  harsh  outlines 
were  relieved  by  the  bright  colors  of  tangled  flower- 
beds.    A  little  farther  we  paused  for  our  noonday 

201 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

lunch  under  a  great  sycamore  by  a  clear  little 
stream.  Here  some  bridge  timbers  served  oppor- 
tunely for  both  table  and  seats;  the  air  was  vocal 
w^ith  the  song  of  birds  and  redolent  v^ith  the  pun- 
gent odor  of  bay  trees  growing  near  by.  It  is  not 
strange  that  such  experiences  prejudiced  us  more 
strongly  than  ever  in  favor  of  our  open-air  noon- 
day meals. 

Beyond  this  we  passed  through  a  quiet, 
dreamy  country.  Houses  were  few^  and  the  only 
sound  was  the  low  wash  of  the  sea  upon  the  rock- 
strewn  shore.  The  sea  was  lonely,  too,  for  not  a 
sail  or  boat  or  even  a  sea-bird  was  to  be  seen.  Only 
the  endless  shimmer  of  the  quiet  water  stretched 
away  in  the  afternoon  sun  to  the  golden  heize  of 
the  distant  horizon. 

At  Gaviota  the  foothills  creep  out  to  the 
w^ater's  edge  and  the  road  takes  a  sharp  swing 
northward  across  the  mountain  range,  beyond 
which  is  Santa  Ynez  Mission.  The  ascent  of 
Gaviota  Pass  is  rather  strenuous,  the  road  winding 
upwards  under  the  overarching  branches  of  oak 
and  sycamore,  but  many  vantage-points  afford 
magnificent  view^s.  At  the  summit  we  w^ere  de- 
lighted by  a  wide  outlook  over  the  foothills,  stud- 
ded with  giant  oaks,  stretching  away  to  the  dim 
blue  outlines  of  the  High  Sierras,  and  long  vistas  up 
and  down  the  quiet  valley,  whose  pastoral  beauty 
was  heightened  by  occasional  droves  of  sheep — a 
panorama  not  easily  surpassed  even  in  California. 

The  long,  winding  descent  to  the  vale  of  the 
Santa  Ynez  was  a  rough  one,  thanks  to  a  recent 
heavy  rain  which  worked  the  adobe  into  ruts  and 

202 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

gutters.  The  road  was  heavily  shaded  much  of  the 
way  and  was  still  wet  in  spots,  which,  with  the 
sharp  hidden  turns,  made  extreme  care  necessary 
— if  there  is  any  particular  road  I  should  wish  to 
avoid  it  is  a  wet  mountain  grade.  (I  may  interject 
that  all  of  the  foregoing  is  obsolete  now;  a  broad 
cement  highway  crosses  the  Gaviota.) 

Just  beyond  the  river  we  caught  a  gleam  of 
white-washed  w^alls  standing  in  a  grassy  plain — 
the  lately  restored  mission  of  Santa  Ynez.  The 
w^hite-haired  padre  greeted  us  warmly,  for  every 
visitor,  be  he  Catholic,  Protestant,  Jew,  or  Gentile, 
is  w^elcome. 

"We  are  glad,  indeed,  to  see  you,"  he  said. 
"Santa  Ynez  is  a  lonely  place  and  our  visitors  do 
much  to  break  the  monotony  of  our  lives." 

To  him  it  was  a  labor  of  love  to  tell  the  history 
of  the  mission  and  of  his  own  connection  with  it, 
nor  did  he  attempt  to  conceal  his  pride  over  the 
work  he  had  accomplished.  He  first  directed  our 
attention  to  the  beauty  of  the  site — the  fertile  plain 
w^ith  luxuriant  green  fields  and  fruit-tree  groves, 
surrounded  by  a  wide  arc  of  mountain  peaks  with 
rounded  green  foothills  nearer  at  hand.  Through 
the  center  of  the  valley,  but  a  few  hundred  yards 
from  the  mission,  flows  the  tree-fringed  Santa  Ynez 
River,  a  stream  of  goodly  volume  in  the  springtime 
and  well  stocked  with  mountain  trout. 

"Oh,  they  were  shrewd,  far-sighted  men,  those 
old  Franciscan  padres,"  said  Father  Buckler,  "when 
it  came  to  choosing  a  site  for  a  mission.  Do  you 
know  that  old  Governor  Borica,  who  declared  Cali- 
fornia *the  most  peaceful  and  quiet  country    on 

203 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

earth,*  was  the  man  who  located  Santa  Ynez  in  this 
spot,  which  he  styled  'beautiful  for  situation'  in 
making  his  report?  Surely  he  knew,  for  he  him- 
self had  made  long  explorations  in  the  mountainous 
regions  by  the  coast  and  five  missions  in  I  796-7 
were  established  by  Padre  Lasuen  under  the  Gover- 
nor's orders.  Santa  Ynez  was  founded  in  1804; 
it  was  not  one  of  the  great  missions,  since  its  great- 
est population  was  only  seven  hundred  and  sixty- 
eight  in  1816,  but  it  was  one  of  the  most  prosperous 
in  proportion  to  its  size.  Its  first  church  was 
destroyed  by  the  earthquake  of  1812,  but  five  years 
later  the  chapel  which  you  now  see  was  completed. 
The  arrangement  and  style  of  the  buildings  here  in 
1 830  were  much  like  Santa  Barbara,  though  every- 
thing was  on  a  smaller  scale.  The  secularization 
took  place  five  years  later,  at  w^hich  time  the  prop- 
erty was  considered  w^orth  almost  fifty  thousand 
dollars — ^which  meant  a  good  deal  more  than  it 
would  now.  The  Mexican  Government  had  such 
poor  success  with  the  Indians  that  they  gave  the 
mission  back  to  the  padres  in  1843,  but  the  evil 
work  had  been  done  and  prosperous  days  never  re- 
turned. In  1850  it  was  abandoned  and  gradually 
fell  into  ruin. 

I  was  sent  here  with  instructions  to  report  on 
the  feasibility  of  restoring  the  mission.  I  expected 
to  remain  but  two  months  at  most,  and  now  eleven 
years  have  passed  since  1  came.  My  work  was  well 
under  way  when  the  earthquake  of  1 906  compelled 
me  to  start  over  again  and  it  was  but  two  years  ago 
that  the  bell-tower  and  several  buttresses  of  the 
church  suddenly  crumbled  and  fell  in  a  heap  in  the 

204 


l;l::i>r.     TOWIOK.     SANTA     YXEZ 
From   Photograph    by   Dassonville 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

cemetery.  We  were  only  too  thankful  when  we 
found  the  four  ancient  bells  unharmed — the  rest  I 
w^as  sure  we  could  rebuild,  and  we  did  it  in  endur- 
ing concrete.  Last  Easter  w^e  held  a  special  service 
to  celebrate  the  restoration,  and  chimes  were  rung 
on  the  old  bells  from  their  place  in  the  new  tower. 

"Our  congregation  is  a  small  one  and  very 
poor.  It  includes  about  sixty  Indians,  most  of 
whom  live  in  and  about  Santa  Ynez.  They  are  all 
very  religious  and  have  great  reverence  for  old 
paintings  and  figures.  Many  valuable  relics  have 
been  looted  from  Santa  Ynez  Mission,  but  never 
by  an  Indian — the  educated  white  man  is  usually 
the  thief.  Indeed,  it  was  a  college  professor  who 
stole  a  beautiful  hand-wrought  plate  from  the  old 
door.  Come  with  me,  my  friends,  and  see  what 
we  have  done." 

He  led  the  way  first  to  the  chapel,  a  long,  nar- 
row, heavily  buttressed  structure  built  of  adobe. 
The  "fachada"  is  the  restoration  spoken  of  and  the 
father  hopes  gradually  to  reproduce  the  ancient 
building  in  the  same  enduring  material.  In  the 
chapel  is  a  large  collection  of  pictures,  statues  and 
candlesticks,  some  of  them  ancient  and  others  of 
little  value.  Traces  of  the  old  decorations  remain, 
mostly  sadly  defaced,  except  in  the  chancel,  where 
the  original  design  and  coloring  are  still  fairly  per- 
fect. 

The  padre  then  led  us  to  his  curio  room,  con- 
taining relics  of  ancient  days.  He  is  a  true  antiqua- 
rian and  few  if  any  of  the  missions  had  as  good  a 
collection.  The  most  curious  was  a  mechanical 
organ  player,  an  extremely  ingenious  contrivance 

205 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

for  enabling  one  with  little  musical  ability  to  play 
the  instrument,  and  an  old  horse  fiddle,  still  ca- 
pable of  producing  a  hideous  noise.  Besides  these 
there  were  rusty  little  cannons,  antique  flintlock 
muskets  and  pistols  and  swords  of  various  kinds; 
candlesticks  in  silver  and  brass;  ponderous  locks 
and  keys;  church  music  done  on  parchment;  great 
tomes  of  church  records,  bound  in  rawhide,  and  a 
great  variety  of  vessels  for  ecclesiastical  and  domes- 
tic use.  There  was  a  huge  yellow  silk  umbrella 
which  was  carried  by  the  padres  in  days  of  old  on 
their  pedestrian  trips  from  mission  to  mission,  for 
the  rules  of  the  order  forbade  riding.  So  strict  were 
they  on  this  score  that  at  one  of  the  missions  where 
the  monks  had  been  guilty  of  riding  in  carts  the 
president  ordered  that  these  vehicles  should  all  be 
burned. 

The  pride  of  the  father's  heart  was  the  collec- 
tion of  ancient  vestments,  which  we  consider  the 
finest  we  saw  at  any  of  the  missions.  In  addition 
to  those  belonging  to  Santa  Ynez,  the  vestments  of 
La  Purisima  are  treasured  here.  Most  of  them  were 
made  in  Spain  over  a  hundred  years  ago  and  they 
are  still  in  a  surprisingly  perfect  condition.  Rare 
silks  and  satins  of  purest  white  or  of  rich  and  still 
unfaded  color  were  heavily  broidered  with  sacred 
emblems  in  gold  and  silver  and  there  was  something 
appropriate  to  every  festival  and  ceremony  of  the 
church.  "Many  of  them  are  worth  a  thousand  dol- 
lars each,"  said  Father  Buckler,  "but  no  money 
could  buy  them,  for  that  matter.  Yes,  I  wear  them 
on  state  occasions  and  they  are  greatly  admired  and 
even  reverenced  by  my  parishioners." 

206 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

A  more  gruesome  collection — a  queer  whim 
of  the  father's — was  a  case  of  glass  bottles  and  jars 
containing  all  manner  of  reptiles  and  vermin  dis- 
covered in  or  about  the  old  building  during  the 
restoration  work.  There  were  snakes  of  all  sizes 
and  species,  lizards,  scorpions,  tarantulas,  and  other 
venomous  creatures,  all  safely  preserved  in  alcohol. 

"They  are  not  very  common  now,"  said  the 
father,  "but  my  collection  shows  some  of  the  in- 
habitants of  the  mission  w^hen  I  first  came  here." 

When  w^e  came  out  again  into  the  pleasant 
arcade.  Father  Buckler  called  our  attention  to  an- 
other of  his  diversions  more  agreeable  to  think 
upon — his  collection  of  cacti  and  flowering  shrubs. 
Several  of  the  former  were  in  bloom  and  we  were 
especially  delighted  with  the  delicate,  pink,  lily- 
shaped  flower  of  the  barrel  cactus  which,  the  father 
assured  us,  is  very  rare  indeed. 

We  thanked  the  kindly  old  priest  for  his  cour- 
tesy, not  forgetting  a  slight  offering  to  assist  in  his 
good  work  of  rescuing  Santa  Ynez  from  decay,  and 
bade  him  farewell. 

"We  are  always  glad  to  get  acquainted  with 
the  mission  priests.  They  have  proved  good  fel- 
lows, without  exception,"  we  declared,  "and  we 
hope  we  may  find  Father  Buckler  here  on  our  next 
visit." 

"I  was  not  asked  to  come  here — I  was  sent," 
said  the  father,  "and  I  hope  they  may  not  send  me 
elsewhere  on  account  of  my  years ;  but  if  the  order 
comes  I  must  go." 

He  laughingly  declined  to  be  photographed  in 
his  "working  clothes"  and  waved  us  a  cordial  fare- 

207 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

well  as  we  betook  ourselves  to  our  steed  of  steel, 
which  always  patiently  awaited  our  return.  We 
w^ere  glad  as  we  swept  over  the  fine  road  through 
the  beautiful  vale  that  we  were  not  of  the  Francis- 
can order — we  would  rather  not  walk,  thank  you! 

The  five-mile  run  from  the  mission  to  Los 
Olivos  was  a  beautiful  one,  through  oak-studded 
meadows  stretching  to  the  foot  of  mighty  moun- 
tains, about  whose  summits  the  purple  evening 
shadows  were  gathering.  Just  at  twilight  we  came 
into  the  poor-looking  little  town  of  a  dozen  or  so 
frame  "shacks"  and  cottages. 

It  had  been  a  strenuous  day,  despite  the  fact 
that  we  had  covered  only  fifty-four  miles — the 
distance  via  Gaviota  Pass.  The  San  Marcos  route 
is  fifteen  miles  shorter,  but  our  trip  that  way  took 
no  less  than  four  hours,  three  of  which  were  spent 
on  the  heavy  grades  of  the  pass.  The  Gaviota  road 
much  of  the  way  was  adobe,  which,  being  trans- 
lated into  Middle  West  parlance,  would  be  "black 
gumbo,"  and  a  recent  heavy  rain  had  made  it 
dreadfully  rutty  and  rough.  We  were  weary 
enough  to  wish  for  a  comfortable  inn,  but  Los 
Olivos  did  not  look  very  promising.  It  chanced, 
however,  that  we  were  agreeably  disappointed  in 
our  expectations — at  the  edge  of  the  village  was  a 
low,  rambling  building  which  they  told  us  was  the 
hotel.  Here  we  found  one  of  the  old-time  country 
inns  to  which  the  coming  motor  had  given  a  new 
lease  of  life  and  renewed  prosperity.  Mattei's  Tav- 
ern evidently  gets  its  chief  patronage  from  the  mo- 
tor, for  no  fewer  than  seven  cars  brought  five  or 
more  passengers  each  on  the  evening  of  our  arrival. 

208 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

Some  were  fishing  parties — the  Santa  Ynez  River 
is  famous  for  trout — and  not  all  the  guests  re- 
mained over  night,  though  many  of  them  did.  Our 
rooms,  while  on  the  country  hotel  order,  w^ere  clean 
and  comfortable.  But  the  dinner — I  have  eaten 
meals  in  pretentious  city  hotels  not  so  good  as  that 
served  to  us  by  the  bewhiskered  old  w^aiter  at 
Mattei's  Tavern.  We  had  made  a  guess  as  to  the 
nationality  of  the  proprietor — Swiss — and  the 
w^aiter  confirmed  it.  We  had  stopped  at  hotels  with 
Sw^iss  managers  before,  in  many  countries  besides 
Switzerland,  and  always  found  in  evidence  the  same 
knack  of  doing  things  right.  Mattei  himself  was  on 
the  job  looking  after  the  details  to  insure  the  maxi- 
mum of  comfort  to  his  guests,  and,  like  the  man- 
ager of  the  Kaiserhof  at  Lucerne,  he  was  at  the  door 
to  bid  us  good-bye  and  Godspeed. 

After  dinner  we  walked  about  the  little  village 
and  the  silence  and  loneliness  seemed  almost  op- 
pressive. Overhead  bent  the  clear,  star-spangled 
heavens,  while  around  the  wide  floor  of  the  valley 
ran  a  circle  of  ill-defined  mountains,  still  touched  to 
the  w^estward  with  the  faint  glow  of  the  vanished 
sun.  Certainly,  if  one  were  seeking  rest  and  retire- 
ment away  from  the  noise  and  bustle  of  the  busy 
world,  he  might  find  it  in  Los  Olivos ! 

The  new  highway  misses  the  village  by  a  mile 
or  two,  but  the  knowing  ones  will  never  regret  that 
its  quiet  and  seclusion  are  still  unbroken.  They 
will  enjoy  the  pleasant  rural  inn  even  more  on  that 
account. 

Our  car  was  before  the  Tavern's  vine-covered 
veranda  early  in  the  morning.     There  was  nothing 

209 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

to  detain  us  in  Los  Olivos  and  after  a  breakfast 
quite  as  satisfactory  as  the  dinner  of  the  evening 
before — we  had  trout  from  the  Santa  Ynez — we 
bade  good-bye  to  our  host,  who  gave  us  careful  di- 
rections about  the  road.  These  were  beginning  to 
be  needed,  for  sign-boards  were  less  frequent  and 
El  Camino  Real  in  some  places  was  little  better  than 
it  must  have  been  in  the  days  of  the  padres — often 
scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  byroads.  All  this 
w^ill  be  improved  in  the  near  future,  for  everywhere 
along  the  roadside  w^e  saw^  stakes  marking  the  state 
highway  survey,  which,  when  carried  to  comple- 
tion, will  make  El  Camino  Real  a  highway  fit  for  a 
king,  indeed! 

For  the  greater  part  of  the  day  we  ran  through 
hills  studded  with  immense  oaks — the  omnipresent 
glory  of  this  section  of  California.  In  places  we 
caught  glimpses  of  green  carpeted  dales  stretching 
beneath  these  forest  giants,  and  noticed  that  these 
trees  usually  stand  at  spacious  distances  from  each 
other,  which  no  doubt  accounts  for  their  perfect 
symmetry.  The  road  in  the  main  is  level,  though 
somewhat  rough  and  winding  as  far  as  Santa  Maria, 
the  first  town  of  consequence.  It  is  a  modern, 
prosperous-looking  place  which  the  last  census  set 
down  as  possessing  four  thousand  souls;  it  now 
claims  a  thousand  more  and,  indeed,  its  appearance 
seems  to  substantiate  its  claim,  though  one  is  likely 
to  be  fooled  in  this  particular  by  some  of  the  newer 
California  towns.  Their  wide  streets  and  spacious 
lots  often  give  the  impression  of  a  larger  popula- 
tion than  they  really  have. 

Out  of  Santa  Maria  we  followed    a    bumpy 

210 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

road  to  Arroyo  Grande  through  a  brown,  barren- 
looking  country — for  the  season  had  been  almost 
without  rain.  The  wind  was  blowing  a  gale,  driv- 
ing the  sand  with  stinging  force  into  our  faces ;  and 
two  weeks  later  when  we  passed  over  the  same  road 
on  our  return  the  same  sirocco  was  sweeping  the 
country.  We  asked  a  garage  man  of  Santa  Maria 
if  this  had  been  going  on  all  the  time,  but  he 
promptly  declared  that  it  had  begun  only  that  morn- 
ing and  that  it  was  "very  unusual." 

From  Arroyo  Grande  there  were  two  main 
roads  to  San  Luis  Obispo,  but  we  chose  the  one 
which  swings  out  to  the  ocean  at  El  Pizmo  beach, 
a  popular  resort  in  season,  though  when  we  saw  it 
a  forlorn-looking,  belittered  hamlet,  seemingly  al- 
most deserted.  The  attraction  of  the  place  is  the 
wide,  white  beach,  some  twenty  miles  long,  so  hard 
and  smooth  that  some  record-breaking  motor  races 
have  been  made  upon  it.  We  could  see  but  little, 
for  a  gray  fog  half  hid  the  restless  ocean  and  swept 
in  ghostly  curtains  between  us  and  the  hills.  The 
road  ascended  a  long  grade,  affording  some  glorious 
sea  views,  for  the  fog  had  broken  into  fleecy  clouds 
and  the  sunlight  had  turned  the  gray  sea  into  a 
dense  expanse  of  lapis  lazuli.  But  we  had  not  long 
to  admire  it,  for  the  road  turned  sharply  inland  and 
a  half  dozen  miles  brought  us  into  San  Luis  Obispo. 
The  town  takes  its  name  from  the  mission  founded 
by  Serra  himself  in  1  775 — San  Luis,  Bishop  of 
Tolusa,  being  commenjorated  by  Padre  Lasuen, 
who  selected  the  site.  Near  at  hand  may  be  seen 
a  series  of  strange  pyramidal  mountains,  almost  as 
regular  in  contour  as  the  pyramids  of  Egypt,  and 

211 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

one  of  them,  curiously  cleft  through  the  center,  sug- 
gested a  bishop's  mitre  to  the  ancient  Franciscan; 
hence  the  name  of  the  "City  of  the  Bishop."  The 
town,  though  ancient,  has  little  of  interest  save  the 
mission  and  this,  through  unsympathetic  restora- 
tion, has  lost  nearly  all  touch  of  the  picturesque. 

We  hesitated  a  moment  in  front  of  the  chapel 
and  a  Mexican  at  work  on  the  lawn  offered  to  con- 
duct us  about  the  place,  and  a  very  efficient  guide 
he  proved  to  be.  He  led  us  into  the  long,  narrow 
chapel,  now  in  daily  use  and  which  has  a  number 
of  old  paintings  and  queer  images  besides  the  regu- 
lar paraphernalia  one  finds  in  Catholic  churches. 
While  we  walked  about,  several  Mexican  women 
came  in  and  kneeled  at  their  devotions.  They  were 
clearly  of  the  poorer  class;  our  guide  said  that  the 
people  of  the  congregation  were  poor  and  that  the 
padre  had  difficulty  in  raising  money  to  keep  up  the 
mission.  Around  the  neat  garden  at  the  rear  of  the 
new  dormitory — a  frame  building  contrasting 
queerly  with  the  thick,  solid  walls  of  the  chapel — 
were  scattered  bits  of  adobe  walls  of  the  buildings 
which  had  fallen  into  decay.  One  low,  solid  old 
structure,  used  as  a  storeroom  and  stable,  remained 
to  show  the  sturdy  construction  of  the  buildings. 

"Here  at  San  Luis,"  said  our  guide,  "tile  roofs 
were  first  used;  the  Indians  burned  the  buildings 
twice  by  setting  fire  to  the  reed  roofs  w^ith  burning 
arrows ;  then  the  fathers  made  tile  which  would  not 
burn  and  all  the  missions  learned  this  from  San 
Luis." 

He  showed  us  with  great  pride  the  treasures  of 
San  Luis,  in  the  relic  room  at  the  rear  of  the  chapel. 

212 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

Chief  among  these  was  the  richly  broidered  vest- 
ment worn  by  Junipero  Serra  at  the  dedication 
services  more  than  a  century  ago.  There  were 
many  other  vestments  and  rare  old  Spanish  altar 
cloths  with  splendidly  wrought  gold  and  silver  em- 
broidery which  elicited  exclamations  of  delight 
from  the  ladies  of  our  party.  The  guide  must  have 
thought  he  noted  a  covetous  look  when  he  showed 
us  some  of  the  old  hand-wrought  silver  vessels, 
candlesticks,  and  utensils,  for  he  said,  "The  fathers 
must  die  for  want  of  money  rather  than  sell  any  of 
it."  On  leaving  we  asked  if  he  had  not  a  booklet 
about  San  Luis  such  as  w^e  had  obtained  at  several 
of  the  missions  and  he  gave  us  a  thick  pamphlet 
w^hich  proved  to  be  an  exposition  of  the  faith  by  a 
w^ell-known  Catholic  bishop. 

While  it  is  desirable  that  any  mission  be  re- 
stored rather  than  to  fall  into  complete  ruin,  it 
certainly  is  to  be  regretted  w^hen  the  work  is  done 
so  injudiciously  as  at  San  Luis  Obispo.  Here  orig- 
inal lines  have  been  quite  neglected  and  so  far  as 
giving  any  idea  of  the  architecture  and  daily  life  of 
the  padres  and  their  charges,  the  work  had  better 
been  left  undone.  The  state,  we  believe,  should 
assist  in  restoration,  but  it  should  be  done  under 
intelligent  supervision,  with  the  view  of  reproduc- 
ing the  mission  as  it  stood  at  its  best  period  under 
the  Franciscan  monks.  Old  material  should  be 
employed  as  far  as  possible,  but  this  does  not  seem 
so  important  as  to  have  the  original  designs  faith- 
fully adhered  to. 

Two  or  three  years  later  a  disastrous  fire 
wiped    out    much    of    San    Luis    Obispo    Mission, 

213 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

Restoration  is  proposed  and  we  may  hope  that  it 
will  succeed  and  that  it  will  be  more  in  the  spirit  of 
the  original  structure  than  much  of  the  work  we 
saw  when  we  visited  the  mission.  The  project 
should  receive  the  encouragement  and  support  of 
everyone  interested  in  preserving  the  historic  land- 
marks of  our  country. 

A  few  miles  out  of  San  Luis  on  the  Paso 
Robles  road  w^e  crossed  the  Cuesta  grade.  It  was  a 
steady  pull  of  a  mile  and  a  half  over  a  ten  per  cent 
rise  and  from  the  beautifully  engineered  road  we 
had  many  vistas  of  oak-covered  hills  and  green 
valleys.  Some  of  the  lawnlike  stretches  by  the 
roadside,  with  the  Titanic  oaks,  reminded  us  of  the 
great  country  "estates"  w^e  had  seen  in  England, 
only  there  was  no  turret  or  battlement  peeping  from 
the  trees  on  the  hilltop.  The  w^estern  slope  is 
steeper,  some  pitches  exceeding  fifteen  per  cent, 
and  several  sharp  turns  with  precipitous  declivities 
close  beside  the  road  made  careful  driving  impera- 
tive. 

Twenty  miles  farther  over  a  fair  road  brought 
us  to  El  Paso  de  Robles — the  pass  of  the  oaks — a 
name  which  it  seemed  to  us  might  have  been  ap- 
plied to  almost  any  number  of  places  along  our 
route  for  the  past  day  or  two.  The  place  is  famous 
for  its  hot  springs,  which  exist  in  great  variety  and 
whose  curative  properties  were  known  to  the  In- 
dians. The  largest  spring  has  a  daily  flow  of  two 
million  gallons  of  sulphur-impregnated  water  at  a 
temperature  of  one  hundred  and  seven  degrees. 
There  is  a  little  spring  which  reaches  one  hundred 
and  twenty-four  degrees,  besides  numerous  others 

214 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

of  varying  composition.  These  springs  are  respon- 
sible for  the  palatial  hotel  which  stands  in  the  midst 
of  beautiful  grounds  at  the  edge  of  the  town.  It 
was  built  several  years  ago  of  brick  and  stone  in 
Swiss  villa  style,  with  wide  verandas  along  the 
front.  It  was  hardly  up  to  date  in  some  appoint- 
ments, but  the  manager  told  us  that  plans  were  al- 
ready complete  for  modernizing  it  throughout  at 
a  cost  of  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand  dollars — 
though  I  fear  the  war  wrecked  this  project  as  it  did 
thousands  of  similar  ones.  We  had  no  cause  to 
complain,  however,  at  the  time  of  our  visit,  as  the 
service  was  excellent  and  rates  w^ere  moderate. 

Out  of  Paso  Robles  the  road  still  winds  among 
the  oaks,  following  the  course  of  the  Salinas  River. 
At  San  Miguel,  nine  miles  northward,  is  the  mis- 
sion of  the  same  name,  one  of  the  most  interesting 
of  the  entire  chain.  It  has  more  of  genuine  antiq- 
uity about  it,  for  it  stands  to-day  in  almost 
its  original  state.  We  not  only  particularly  re- 
member San  Miguel,  but  have  a  vivid  recollection 
of  Father  Nevin,  the  priest  in  charge,  since  he  was 
the  only  one  of  those  we  met  who  seemed  to  have 
a  strain  of  pessimism  in  his  make-up  and  who 
showed  occasional  flashes  of  misanthropy.  He  led 
us  first  of  all  into  the  old  chapel,  the  pride  of  San 
Miguel,  and  pointed  out  that  the  original  roof  and 
floor  tiles  were  still  in  place  and  that  the  walls  bore 
the  original  decorations.  These  were  done  in 
strongly  contrasting  colors,  which  have  faded  but 
little  in  the  hundred  years  of  their  existence.  As 
Indian  motifs  seemed  to  prevail,  one  of  the  ladies 

of  our  party  asked  if  the  work  had  been  done  by  the 

215 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

Indians.      Father  Nevin  looked  really  hurt  at  the 
query. 

"My  dear  woman,"  he  said,  *'do  you  know 
what  you  ask?  Could  those  wretched  barbarians 
have  done  the  beautiful  frescoes  you  see  on  these 
walls?  The  California  Indians  were  the  most  de- 
graded beings  on  earth.  No,  the  w^ork  was  done  by 
the  good  padres  themselves." 

We  were  silenced,  of.  course,  but  could  not 
help  thinking  that  Indians  who  designed  such 
marvelous  basketry  might  well  have  done  this 
decoration  with  a  little  instruction.  And  such,  in- 
deed, seems  to  have  been  the  case.  George  Whar- 
ton James,  who  is  known  as  an  authority  on  such 
matters,  says  that  the  w^ork  was  done  by  the  natives 
under  the  direction  of  a  Spaniard  named  Murros 
and  that  the  padres  probably  did  none  of  it  them- 
selves. It  is  extremely  interesting,  as  showing  a 
church  interior  practically  as  it  was  when  the  Fran- 
ciscans held  sway  in  California. 

On  the  walls  are  ten  oil  paintings  brought 
from  Spain  which  are  considerably  older  than  the 
church;  the  painter  is  unknown  and  the  artistic 
merit  is  evidently  very  small.  There  are  also  some 
fine  examples  of  genuine  "mission  furniture"  in 
two  solid  old  confessional  chairs,  supposed  to  have 
been  made  by  the  Indian^s.  The  first  bell-tower  was 
built  of  wood,  but  gavelway  some  years  ago  and 
the  bells  are  now  mounted  on  an  incongruous  steel 
tower,  something  like  those  used  to  support  wind- 
mills. The  large  bell,  weighing  over  a  ton,  w^as  re- 
cast twenty-five  years  ago  from  the  metal  of  the 

ancient  bells.      The  residence  quarters  have  been 

216 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

restored  and  the  beautiful  arcade  is  still  in  good 
preservation.  At  the  rear  are  remains  of  cloisters, 
which  were  built  of  burnt  brick  and  now  are  in  a 
sad  state  of  decay.  A  few  fragments  of  the  wall 
which  once  surrounded  the  mission  may  still  be 
seen,  but,  like  the  cloisters,  these  are  rapidly  dis- 
integrating. 

I  said  something  to  Father  Nevin  about  the 
obligation  which  it  seemed  to  me  is  upon  the  state 
to  preserve  these  ancient  monuments  and  added 
that  France  and  England  had  wakened  up  in  this 
regard  and  were  taking  steps — but  I  again  unwit- 
tingly irritated  the  good  father,  for  he  interrupted 
me. 

"France  is  a  robber  nation — she  robbed  the 
church  just  as  the  Mexicans  robbed  the  missions  in 
California!" 

I  expressed  my  regret  for  bringing  up  an  un- 
pleasant subject,  and  in  taking  leave  proffered 
Father  Nevin  the  little  offering  which  we  always 
felt  due  the  good  priests  who  w^ere  so  courteous  and 
patient  with  their  visitors,  but  he  insistently  de- 
clined. 

"No,  no,"  he  said.  "I  never  take  anything 
from  a  visitor.  The  question  might  be  asked  me, 
'What  have  you  done  with  all  that  money?'  and  the 
answer  is  easy  if  I  never  take  any." 

He  then  gave  us  careful  directions  about  the 
road  and  we  could  not  but  feel  that  a  kindly  nature 
hid  behind  his  somewhat  gruff  manner. 

San  Miguel,  it  is  said,  furnished  more  ideas 
to  Frank  Miller  for  his  Riverside  Inn  reproductions 
than  any  other  mission,  for  many  of  its  odd  little 

217 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

artistic  touches  have  fortunately  escaped  the  rav- 
ages of  time.  We  noted  a  queer  chimney  rising 
above  the  comb  of  the  roof  of  the  monastic  build- 
ing. It  is  surmounted  by  six  tiles — three  on  one 
side,  sloping  towards  the  three  on  the  opposite  side 
— and  these  are  capped  w^ith  a  tile  laid  flatwise  over 
the  ends. 

The  mission  was  founded  in  1  797  by  Padre 
Lasuen.  The  abundance  of  water  near  at  hand  was 
given  as  a  reason  for  choosing  the  site,  for  it  is 
scarcely  as  picturesque  as  many  others.  The  irri- 
gating ditches  which  conveyed  the  waters  of  Santa 
Ysabel  springs  over  the  mission  lands,  may  still  be 
seen.  The  first  church  was  destroyed  by  a  dis- 
astrous fire  in  1  806  and  the  present  structure  was 
completed  in  1817 — just  a  little  more  than  a  cen- 
tury ago.  The  greatest  population  numbered  a 
thousand  and  ninety-six  in  1814,  but  ten  years  later 
it  was  much  reduced  and  at  the  secularization  in 
1  836  only  half  the  number  were  on  the  rolls.  The 
total  valuation  was  then  estimated  at  about  eighty 
thousand  dollars.  After  the  American  occupation 
the  mission  fell  into  decay,  but  fortunately,  the  sub- 
stantial construction  of  the  church  saved  it  from 
ruin.  To-day  the  community  is  very  poor  and  if 
outside  help  is  not  received  from  some  source  the 
deterioration  of  the  buildings  w^ill  be  rapid. 

A  few  miles  south  of  San  Miguel  we  forded 
the  Salinas  River,  a  broad  but  shallow  stream  wind- 
ing through  a  wide,  sandy  bed.  Two  men  with  a 
stout  team  of  horses  were  waiting  on  the  opposite 
side  to  give  a  lift  to  the  cars  which  stalled  in  the 
heavy  sand — for  a  consideration,  of  course — and 

218 


ARCADE,   SAN  MIGUEL, 
From  Photograph   by  Dassonville 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

their  faces  showed  plain  evidence  of  disgust  when 
w^e  scrambled  up  the  bank  under  our  ow^n  power. 
In  the  wet  season  the  Salinas  often  becomes  a 
raging  torrent  and  a  detour  of  several  miles  by  the 
way  of  Indian  Valley  to  Bradley  becomes  neces- 
sary. At  Bradley  we  again  crossed  over  a  long 
bridge  and  the  road  then  swings  away  from  the 
river  and  runs  through  the  wide  level  w^heatfields 
of  the  Salinas  Valley.  And  for  the  rest  of  the  day, 
except  when  crossing  an  occasional  hill  range,  we 
passed  through  endless  wheatfields,  stretching  away 
to  the  distant  hills.  On  our  first  trip  the  fields  did 
not  look  very  promising,  owing  to  protracted 
drouth,  but  a  year  later  we  saw  the  same  country 
in  the  full  glory  of  a  magnificent  crop.  In  these 
vast  tracts  harvesting  and  threshing  are  done  at  one 
operation  by  huge  machines  drawn  by  steam  en- 
gines. A  farmer  told  us  he  had  seen  the  valley 
covered  with  grain  that  was  above  his  head  when 
he  walked  in  it,  and  he  was  a  sizable  fellow,  too. 
There  is  nothing  at  Jolon  except  a  country 
store  and  two  or  three  saloons — typical  western 
drinking-resorts  with  a  few  lazy  greasers  loafing 
about.  There  is  a  good-looking  hotel  here,  but  we 
preferred  our  usual  open-air  luncheon  under  a 
mammoth  oak — there  are  hundreds  of  them  above 
Jolon.  Just  beyond  we  crossed  the  Jolon  grade, 
which  had  some  of  the  steepest  pitches  we  had  yet 
found.  The  road  took  us  through  beautiful  oak- 
covered  hills  and  at  the  foot  of  the  grade  we  came 
back  to  the  Salinas  River.  We  had  been  using  a 
map  issued  by  a  prominent  automobile  manufac- 
turer,  which   showed   San   Antonio    Mission   just 

219 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

across  the  river  at  King  City.  Of  course  we  should 
have  to  visit  this,  even  if  vv^e  were  late  in  reaching 
Monterey.  A  farmer  of  whom  we  inquired  for  the 
old  mission  at  King  City  looked  at  us  blankly. 

"Old  mission,"  he  echoed,  "1  don't  know  of 
any  in  these  parts." 

"But  our  map  shows  San  Antonio  Mission  at 
King  City." 

"Well,  your  map  is  wrong,  then — San  An- 
tonio is  back  over  the  grade  six  miles  from  Jolon." 
And  one  of  the  ladies  declared  that  Father  Nevin  at 
San  Miguel  had  said  something  of  that  sort — why 
didn't  we  pay  attention  at  the  time?  We  recog- 
nized the  futility  of  any  attempt  at  argument  under 
such  circumstances  and  prudently  held  our  peace. 
But  it  was  clear  enough  that  San  Antonio  was  not 
at  King  City. 

"Oh,  well,"  we  finally  decided,  "we  shall  have 
to  come  back  this  way,  in  any  event,  for  we  have 
missed  La  Purisima  near  Lompoc  and  we  have 
determined  to  see  them  all." 

Soledad  is  a  dozen  miles  farther  on  the  road 
and  near  there  "Our  Lady  of  the  Solitude"  was 
founded  in  1791.  Crossing  the  Salinas  again  over 
a  ram-shackle  bridge — the  flood  swept  it  away  a 
year  later — we  came  into  the  street  of  the  little 
village,  which  consisted  of  a  few  cottages,  several 
stores,  and  a  blacksmith  shop — w^e  remember  the 
latter  particularly  because  vv^e  hailed  the  vs^orthy 
smith  and  inquired  for  the  mission.  He  met  us 
with  a  counter  query: 

"Are  you  just  on  a  sightseeing  trip?"     We 

220 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

admitted  this  to  be  our  prime  object  and  he  quickly 
rejoined, 

"Then  there  ain't  no  use  in  your  goin'  to  see 
the  mission,  for  there  ain't  nothin'  to  see.  Besides, 
the  road  is  mighty  bad — all  cut  up  just  now" — but 
seeing  we  were  not  satisfied,  he  added, 

"It's  just  across  the  river  yonder;  you'll  have 
to  go  back  to  the  bridge  and  turn  to  the  right." 

We  thanked  him  and  acted  on  his  directions, 
and  we  soon  found  he  was  right  enough — about  the 
road,  at  least.  It  had  recently  been  ploughed,  leav- 
ing a  long  stretch  of  powdery  dust,  axle-deep.  We 
plunged  into  it,  rolling  from  one  side  to  the  other 
and  making  exceedingly  slow  progress.  At  no  time 
on  our  tour  did  it  seem  more  likely  that  a  team  of 
horses  would  have  to  be  "commandeered,"  but  by 
keeping  at  it — had  we  stopped  a  single  instant  w^e 
could  never  have  started  on  our  own  power — we 
came  through  at  last,  and  seeing  nothing  of  the 
ruins  inquired  of  some  men  at  a  pumping  station. 

"Just  over  the  hill,"  they  replied;  but  we 
stopped  to  see  one  of  the  California  irrigation  wells, 
and  it  was  something  of  a  spectacle  to  behold  a  huge 
centrifugal  pump  pouring  out  six  thousand  gallons 
of  crystal-clear  water  every  minute. 

"She  will  keep  up  that  gait  for  four  months 
at  a  time,"  said  one  of  the  workmen,  "and  there  are 
several  bigger  wells  in  the  neighborhood;  there 
surely  must  be  something  of  a  lake  under  our  feet." 

The  effect  of  these  wells  was  shown  in  the 
green  fields,  which  contrasted  with  the  brown, 
withered  country  through  which  we  had  been  pass- 
ing. 

221 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

Our  friend  the  blacksmith  was  right  again 
when  he  said  that  the  mission  "wasn't  worth 
seein'  " — just  as  a  spectacle  removed  from  any 
sentiment  it  would  never  repay  for  the  strenuous 
plunge  through  the  sandy  stretch.  But  "Our  Lady 
of  the  Solitude"  means  something  more  than  a  few 
crumbling  bits  of  adobe  wall;  here  is  the  same 
human  interest  and  romance  that  clusters  around 
beautiful  Capistrano  or  delightful  Santa  Barbara. 
There  is  not  enough  left  to  give  any  idea  of  the 
architectural  or  general  plan  of  the  buildings ;  there 
is  even  doubt  if  some  of  the  buildings  w^ere  not 
erected  after  the  American  occupation.  The  ma- 
terial was  adobe  and  this  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  protected  by  stucco  or  cement;  as  a  conse- 
quence the  ruin  is  complete  and  in  a  few  years 
more  only  heaps  of  yellow  clay  will  mark  the  site 
of  the  mission.  The  principal  ruins  are  of  the 
church,  which  the  Sobranes  family  of  Soledad  claim 
was  erected  by  their  grandfather  in  1850.  He  was 
baptized  and  married  in  the  original  church  and 
when  this  fell  to  ruin  he  built  the  structure  whose 
remains  we  see  to-day.  If  this  claim  be  true,  there 
is  indeed  little  left  of  the  original  mission. 

The  site  is  a  superb  one.  The  mission  stood 
on  one  of  the  foothills  w^hich  overlook  the  wide 
vale  of  the  Salinas,  stretching  away  to  the  rugged 
blue  ranges  of  the  Sierras.  The  river  may  be  seen 
as  a  gleaming  silver  thread  in  the  w^ide  ribbon  of 
yellow  sand  through  which  it  courses,  fringed  now 
and  then  by  green  shrubs  and  trees.  Across  the 
river  is  the  village  of  Soledad  and  the  wheatfields 
beyond  are  dotted  with  ranch-houses  at  wide  inter- 

222 


SANTA  BARBARA  TO  MONTEREY 

vals.  It  was  a  fine,  invigorating  day;  the  wind, 
which  whiffed  sand  into  our  faces  all  the  afternoon, 
had  subsided;  a  soft,  somnolent  haze  had  settled 
over  the  landscape;  and  the  low,  declining  sun  re- 
minded us  that  we  must  be  moving  if  we  were  to 
reach  Monterey  before  dark. 

There  is  not  much  of  history  connected  w^ith 
the  pitiful  relics  we  were  leaving  behind.  The 
records  belonging  to  Our  Lady  of  the  Solitude  have 
perished  with  her  earthen  walls  and  w^e  could  learn 
only  the  general  details  of  her  story.  Founded  in 
1791  by  Father  Lasuen,  the  mission  reached  its 
zenith  in  1  805,  when  there  were  seven  hundred  and 
twenty-seven  neophytes  under  its  control.  They 
possessed  large  numbers  of  live  stock  and  had  built 
an  extensive  irrigating  system,  traces  of  which  may 
still  be  seen.  Soledad  faded  away  even  more 
rapidly  than  its  contemporaries  following  the  Mexi- 
can confiscation.  Six  years  after  this  event,  which 
occurred  in  1835,  only  seventy  Indians  remained, 
and  ten  years  later  the  property  was  sold  for  eight 
hundred  dollars  to  the  Sobranes,  who  claim  to  have 
built  the  church.  Our  Lady  of  the  Solitude  is  quite 
past  any  restoration  and  it  is  not  likely  that  a  new 
building  will  ever  be  erected  on  the  spot.  It  will 
soon  take  its  place  with  Santa  Cruz  and  San  Rafael, 
which  have  totally  disappeared. 

But  while  w^e  w^ere  moralizing  about  the  fate 
of  the  mission  we  w^ere  running  into  some  dreadful 
road.  We  decided  on  the  advice  of  a  farmer  not 
to  retrace  our  way  to  Soledad  village,  but  to  follow 
the  road  on  the  west  side  of  the  river  to  the  crossing 
at  Gonzales,  some  ten  miles  distant.     It  proved  a 

223 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

rough,  narrow,  winding  road  and  we  managed  to 
lose  it  once  or  twice  and  came  very  near  stalling  in 
some  of  the  sandy  stretches.  But  the  series  of 
views  across  the  valley  from  the  low  foothills  along 
which  we  coursed  atoned  for  the  drawbacks,  and 
the  bridge  at  Gonzales  brought  us  back  to  the  main 
Salinas  highway.  This  proved  an  excellent  macad- 
am road  and  its  long,  smooth  stretches  enabled  us 
to  make  up  for  the  numerous  delays  of  the  day. 
Salinas,  a  modern,  prosperous-looking  town  of 
some  four  thousand  people,  is  the  commercial 
center  of  the  vast  wheatfields  surrounding  it.  Here 
is  located  the  largest  beet-sugar  factory  in  the  world 
and  fruit-raising  is  also  a  considerable  industry. 
Our  run  had  been  a  long  one  and  w^e  w^ere  quite 
weary  enough  to  stop  for  the  night,  but  visions  of 
Del  Monte  and  Monterey  still  lured  us  on.  We 
quickly  covered  the  twenty  miles  to  the  old  capital, 
the  road  winding  between  the  glorious  hills  on 
either  side.  These  were  clothed  with  a  mantle  of 
velvety  grass  variegated  with  pale  blue  lupines  and 
golden  poppies  and  studded  w^ith  sprawling  old 
oaks — a  scene  of  rare  charm  in  color  and  contour. 
We  reached  the  Del  Monte  just  at  dusk  and  were 
glad  that  darkness  partly  hid  our  somewhat  un- 
kempt and  travel-stained  appearance. 


224 


XI 
THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

I  say  God's  kingdom  is  at  hand 
Right  here,  if  we  but  lift  our  eyes ; 
I  say  there  is  no  line  nor  land 

Between  this  land  and  Paradise." 
So  sang  Joaquin  Miller,  the  Good  Gray  Poet 
of  the  Sierras.  What  particular  place  in  California 
he  had  in  mind  I  do  not  know,  but  if  I  were  making 
application  of  his  verse  to  any  one  spot,  it  would 
be  Monterey  and  the  immediate  vicinity.  Perhaps 
I  am  unduly  prepossessed  in  favor  of  Del  Monte, 
for  here  I  came  on  my  w^edding  tour  many  years 
ago,  and  I  often  wondered  whether,  if  I  should  ever 
come  again,  it  would  seem  the  same  fairyland  and 
haven  of  rest  that  it  did  on  that  memorable  occa- 
sion. I  say  "haven  of  rest,"  for  such  indeed  it 
seemed  in  the  fullest  sense  after  an  all-day  trip  on 
a  little  coast  steamer  from  San  Francisco.  It  was  my 
first  voyage  and  the  sea  was  as  rough  as  I  have 
ever  seen  it;  great  waves  tossed  the  little  tub  of  a 
boat  until  one  could  stand  on  deck  only  with  diffi- 
culty. Perhaps  I  am  not  competent  to  give  an 
opinion  about  standing  on  deck  when  during  most 
of  the  trip  I  perforce  occupied  a  berth  in  the  ill- 
smelling  little  cabin.  When  the  Captain  called  us 
to  dinner  we  made  a  bold  effort  to  respond  and  I 
still  recall  the  long,  boxlike  trench  around  the  table 

to  keep  the  dishes  from  sliding  about.     One  whiff 

225 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

of  the  menu  of  the  "Los  Angeles**  satisfied  us  and 
we  retired  precipitately  to  the  cabin.  The  boat  was 
twelve  mortal  hours  in  making  the  trip.  When  we 
landed  the  earth  itself  seemed  unstable  and  it  was 
not  until  the  following  morning  that  "Richard  was 
himself  again." 

1  do  not  know  that  such  a  digression  as  this 
is  in  place  in  a  motor-travel  book.  However  that 
may  be,  I  shall  never  forget  the  first  impressions 
of  Del  Monte  and  its  delightful  surroundings  on 
the  following  morning;  nor  can  anything  eradicate 
the  roseate  memory  of  the  scenes  of  the  seventeen- 
mile  drive,  although  we  made  it  in  so  plebeian  a 
vehicle  as  a  horse-drawn  buggy. 

But  Del  Monte  was  not  less  satisfying  or  its 
surroundings  less  beautiful  on  the  lovely  morning 
— an  almost  unnecessary  qualification,  for  lovely 
summer  mornings  are  the  rule  at  Del  Monte — 
following  our  second  arrival  at  this  famous  inn.  Its 
praises  have  been  so  widely  sounded  by  so  much 
better  authorities  than  myself  that  any  lengthy  de- 
scription here  would  surely  be  superfluous.  I  shall 
content  myself  with  introducing  a  page  from 
"America,  the  Land  of  Contrasts,"  by  that  exper- 
ienced traveler,  Dr.  Muirhead,  author  of  Baedeker's 
guides  for  Great  Britain  and  the  United  States,  who 
unqualifiedly  pronounces  Del  Monte  the  "best  hotel 
on  the  American  continent"  and  while  such  a  state- 
ment must  be  largely  a  matter  of  personal  opinion, 
all,  we  think,  will  concede  that  the  famous  hotel  is 
most  delightfully  situated.     Dr.  Muirhead  writes: 

"The  Hotel  Del  Monte  lies  amid  blue-grass 
lawns  and  exquisite  grounds,  in  some  w^ays  recall- 

226 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

ing  the  parks  of  England's  gentry,  though  including 
among  its  noble  trees  such  un-English  specimens  as 
the  sprawling  and  moss-draped  live-oaks  and  the 
curious  Monterey  pines  and  cypresses.  Its  gardens 
offer  a  continual  feast  of  colour,  with  their  solid 
acres  of  roses,  violets,  calla  lilies,  heliotrope,  nar- 
cissus, tulips,  and  crocuses;  and  one  part  of  them, 
known  as  'Arizona,'  contains  a  wonderful  collec- 
tion of  cacti.  The  hotel  is  very  large,  enclosing  a 
spacious  garden-court,  and  makes  a  pleasant  enough 
impression,  with  its  turrets,  balconies,  and  veran- 
das, its  many  sharp  gables,  dormers,  and  window- 
hoods.  The  economy  of  the  interior  reminded  me 
more  strongly  of  the  amenities  and  decencies  of  the 
house  of  a  refined,  well-to-do,  and  yet  not  extrava- 
gantly wealthy  family  than  of  the  usual  hotel  at- 
mosphere. There  were  none  of  the  blue  satin  hang- 
ings, ormolu  vases,  and  other  entirely  superfluous 
luxuries  for  which  we  have  to  pay  in  the  bills  of 
certain  hotels  at  Paris  and  elsewhere;  but  on  the 
other  hand  nothing  was  lacking  that  a  fastidious  but 
reasonable  taste  could  demand.  The  rooms  and 
corridors  are  spacious  and  airy;  everything  was  as 
clean  and  fresh  as  white  paint  and  floor  polish  could 
make  them;  the  beds  were  comfortable  and  frag- 
rant; the  linen  was  spotless;  there  was  lots  of 
'hanging  room;'  each  pair  of  bedrooms  shared  a 
bathroom;  the  cuisine  was  good  and  sufficiently 
varied;  the  waiters  were  attentive;  flowers  were 
abundant  without  and  within.  The  price  of  all  this 
real  luxury  was  $3.00  to  $3.50  a  day.  Possibly 
the  absolute  perfection  of  the  bright  and  soft  Cali- 
fornia spring  when  I  visited  Monterey,  and  the  ex- 

227 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

quisite  beauty  of  its  environment,  may  have  lulled 
my  critical  faculties  into  a  state  of  unusual  somno- 
lence;  but  when  I  quitted  the  Del  Monte  Hotel  1 
felt  that  I  was  leaving  one  of  the  most  charming 
homes  I  had  ever  had  the  good  fortune  to  live  in." 
All  of  which  is  quite  as  true  to-day  as  it  was 
more  than  twenty  years  ago,   when  it  was   first 
written,  excepting  that  the  good  doctor  would  not 
linger  very  long  at  Del  Monte  on  $3.50  per  day. 
And  it  should  be  remembered  that  since  the  time 
of  Dr.  Muirhead's  visit  many  new  hotels,  which 
rival  Del  Monte  in  location  and  excellence,  have 
been  built  in  California.     The  variety  and  extent 
of  the  grounds,   the  golf   links  and  other  amuse- 
ments, are  attractions  that  might  well  detain  one 
for  some  time,  even  if  the  surrounding  country 
were  not  the  most  beautiful  and  historic  in  Cali- 
fornia.   The  miles  of  shady,  flower-bordered  walks, 
the  lake  with  its  friendly  swans,  the  tennis  and  cro- 
quet grounds,  the  world-famous  golf  course,  the 
curious  evergreen  maze — a  duplicate  of  the  one  at 
Hampton  Court  Palace — the  bath-house  and   the 
fine  beach  a  few  hundred  yards  to  the  rear  of  the 
hotel,  and  many  other  means  of  diversion  always 
open  to  the  guests,  combine  to  make  Del  Monte  a 
place  where  one  may  spend  days  without  leaving 
the  grounds  of  the  hotel. 

Before  one  begins  the  exploration  of  the 
peninsula  he  should  gain  some  idea  of  the  historic 
wealth  of  Monterey.  No  other  town  on  the  Pacific 
Coast  can  vie  with  this  quiet  little  seaport  in  this 
particular.  Discovered  by  Spaniards  under  Vis- 
caino  in  1 602 — before  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  landed 

228 


§  J 
o  > 

K   S 
P   5 


0  fa 


o  ^ 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

— it  was  named  in  honor  of  the  Count  of  Monterey, 
ninth  viceroy  of  Mexico.  It  was  the  record  of  this 
explorer  and  his  testimony  to  the  beauty  of  the  spot 
that  led  good  Father  Serra  to  select  Monterey  as 
the  site  of  his  second  mission,  as  related  elsewhere 
in  this  book.  This  was  in  1  770,  one  year  after  the 
founding  of  San  Diego.  It  will  be  recalled  that  the 
first  expedition  sent  out  from  San  Diego  returned 
without  reaching  Monterey,  but  it  did  discover  the 
great  harbor  of  San  Francisco.  The  second  expedi- 
tion, accompanied  by  Serra  himself,  resulted  suc- 
cessfully and  the  good  Franciscan  had  the  joy  of 
dedicating  San  Carlos  Borromeo  in  this  beautiful 
spot.  The  presidio,  or  military  establishment  of  the 
soldiers  w^ho  came  with  Serra,  was  located  on  the 
present  site  of  the  tow^n  and  later  Monterey  was 
made  the  provincial  capital,  a  distinction  w^hich  it 
retained  after  the  Mexican  revolt  in  1  822  until  the 
American  occupation  in  1  846.  It  was  the  center 
of  brilliant  social  life  and  gallant  adventure  during 
the  old  Spanish  days — some  hint  of  which  may  be 
gleaned  from  our  description  of  the  second  act  of 
the  mission  play,  which  is  represented  to  have  taken 
place  at  San  Carlos.  There  were  battles  with  pirates 
who  more  than  once  attempted  to  sack  the  town 
and  who  caused  the  wreck  of  many  ships  by  erect- 
ing false  lights  on  the  shore.  But  all  this  came  to 
an  end  and  a  new  era  no  less  picturesque  was 
opened  when  the  two  small  vessels,  the  Cyane  and 
the  United  States,  entered  the  harbor  in  July  1  846. 
A  landing  party  under  the  commander,  Commodore 
Sloat,  came  ashore  and  hoisted  the  stars  and  stripes 
over  the  old  custom-house,  which  is  standing  to- 

229 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

day,  still  surmounted  by  the  staff  which  bore  the 
historic  flag.  We  saw  this  when  we  began  our 
round  of  the  town — a  long,  low  building  guarded 
by  a  lone  cypress  and  consisting  of  two  square  pa- 
vilions with  balconies,  w^ith  a  lower  edifice  between 
in  which  dances  and  social  events  were  held. 

It  is  now  used  as  a  lodge  room  for  the  Monte- 
rey Chapter  of  the  Native  Sons  of  the  Golden  West 
and  is  usually  closed  to  visitors.  We  had  the  good 
fortune  to  find  it  open  and  in  charge  of  a  very  inter- 
esting Native  Son,  an  old-time  resident  of  the  town, 
whose  personal  experience  dated  back  to  the  time 
of  the  American  occupation.  He  showed  us  the 
various  relics  collected  by  the  organization,  among 
them  the  base  of  the  old  flag-pole,  the  trunk  of  a 
tree  blazed  by  Kit  Carson,  and  two  chairs  made 
from  the  oak  under  which  Viscaino  and  Serra  are 
said  to  have  landed.  He  also  told  us  many  inci- 
dents in  the  early  history  of  Monterey  and  I  shall 
never  forget  his  comment  on  the  result  of  the  work 
of  the  missions. 

"Ah,  they  were  grand  old  fellows,  those 
Spanish  priests;  they  ridded  California  of  the  In- 
dians and  a  good  job  it  was — if  you  don't  think  so, 
look  at  Mexico,  where  they  still  exist.  Civilization 
and  the  white  man's  diseases  were  the  Spaniard's 
gifts  to  the  Indian  and  they  finally  wiped  him  out 
of  existence." 

Certainly  an  unique  if  not  very  cheerful  or 
appreciative  view  of  the  work  of  the  Franciscan 
fathers. 

There  is  a  broad  plaza  before  the  custom-house 
and  from  this  the  principal  streets  of  the  town  begin 

230 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

and  each  seems  distinctive  of  a  particular  phase  of 

Monterey.      Modern  improvements  have  followed 

Alvarado,  while   Main  is  bordered  w^ith  adobes — 

some  old  and  tumble-down  but  nevertheless  very 

picturesque  with  their  tile  roofs,  white  walls,  and 

little  gardens  bright  with  roses  and  geraniums.     On 

this  street  is  the  house  occupied  by  Thomas  Larkin, 

the  last  American  consul,  who  was  much  involved 

in  the  intrigue  preceding  the  American  conquest. 

To  the  rear  of  this  house  is  a  little  rose-embowered, 

one-room  cottage    which    was    occupied    by    two 

young  lieutenants,   Sherman  and  Halleck,   whose 

names  were  afterwards  to  become  so  famous  in  the 

Civil  War. 

And  this  is  not  the  only  romantic  memory  of 

Sherman  still  existing  in  Monterey.   Over  an  arched 

gateway  a  sign,   "The  Sherman  Rose,"  attracted 

our  attention.    We  made  bold  to  enter  and  knocked 

at  the  door  of  the  solid  old  stone  house  inside  the 

enclosure.      A  little  old  woman,   good-looking  in 

spite  of  her  years,  answered  our  call,  but  soon  made 

it  clear  that  she  spoke  no  English.     She  pointed  to 

the  ancient  rose-vine,  several  inches  in  diameter, 

which  scattered  its  huge  fragrant  yellow  blooms  in 

reckless  profusion  over  the  trellis  above  our  heads 

and  we  understood  that  this  was  the  rose  which 

legend     declares     Sherman    and    a    lovely    young 

senorita  of  Old  Monterey  planted  as  a  pledge  of 

mutual  affection.     But  we  did  not  know  at  the  time 

that  the  old  lady  who  so  kindly  showed  us  about 

the  house  and  gardens  and  gave  us  little  bouquets 

of  geraniums  and  rosebuds  is  reputed  in  Monterey 

to  be  the  identical  senorita  of  the  story.     I  think 

231 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

there  must  be  some  mythical  elements  in  this  sup- 
position, for  the  lady  hardly  looked  the  years  made 
necessary  by  the  fact  that  Sherman  was  in  Monte- 
rey nearly  seventy  years  ago.  The  legend  is  that 
Sherman,  when  stationed  in  Monterey,  was  enam- 
ored of  Senorita  Bonifacio,  the  most  beautiful 
young  woman  of  the  town.  In  the  midst  of  his  ro- 
mance the  young  lieutenant  was  ordered  to  the  east 
and  when  he  called  on  his  inamorata  to  acquaint 
her  with  the  mournful  news  he  wore  a  Cloth-of- 
Gold  rose  in  his  coat.  His  sweetheart  took  the  rose, 
saying, 

"Together  we  will  plant  this  rose  and  if  it  lives 
and  flourishes  I  shall  know  that  your  love  is  true." 

He  replied,  "When  it  blooms  I  will  come  back 
and  claim  you." 

But  whether  the  story  is  true  or  not,  it  had  not 
the  usual  ending,  for  the  young  officer  never  re- 
turned to  redeem  his  pledge. 

Not  far  from  the  Larkin  house  is  the  long,  low, 
colonnaded  home  of  Alvarado,  the  last  Spanish 
governor,  and  near  it  stands  Colton  Hall,  famous  as 
the  meeting-place  of  the  constitutional  convention 
which  assembled  within  its  walls  on  the  day  that 
California  was  admitted  to  the  Union.  Its  hand- 
some Grecian  facade,  with  a  portico  supported  by 
two  tall  white  columns,  reminds  one  of  some  of  the 
stately  Colonial  homes  of  the  Southern  States.  It 
now  serves  the  very  useful  though  somewhat  ple- 
beian purpose  of  the  tax  collector's  office.  Some  day 
we  hope  it  may  be  converted  into  a  museum  to 
house  the  historic  relics  of  Monterey.     It  took  its 

name  from  Walter  Colton,  the  chaplain  of  the  con- 

232 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

vention  and  first  American  alcade  or  mayor  of  the 
town.  A  diary  which  he  kept  during  the  three 
years  of  his  office  records  many  stirring  incidents 
of  Old  CaHfornia. 

Another  structure  nearing  the  century  mark, 
built  in  1  832,  is  the  Washington  Hotel,  though  that 
was  not  its  original  name,  and  near  it  is  the  ram- 
shackle old  adobe  known  by  common  consent  as  the 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson  house.  For  the  well-be- 
loved author  was  for  four  months  of  1  879  a  resident 
of  the  town  at  a  time  when  his  health  and  fortunes 
seemed  at  their  lowest  ebb.  Even  then  he  was  the 
leading  spirit  of  a  little  coterie  of  Bohemians — ar- 
tists and  litterateurs — among  them  Charles  Warner 
Stoddard,  Jules  Ta vernier,  and  William  Keith,  who 
often  met  for  dinner  in  the  restaurant  kept  by  Jules 
Simonneau.  To  the  last  named,  Stevenson  gives 
credit  for  saving  his  life  by  careful  nursing  during 
a  severe  illness  which  he  suffered  shortly  after  com- 
ing to  Monterey.  Simonneau  was  a  rough,  full- 
bearded  old  frontiersman,  but  he  conceived  an 
attachment  for  Stevenson  which  lasted  to  the  day 
of  his  death,  and  never,  even  under  stress  of  direst 
need,  would  he  part  with  the  letters  or  autographed 
books  which  the  author  had  sent  him.  Neither 
would  be  permit  the  publication  of  any  portion  of 
the  correspondence — "letters  from  one  gentleman 
to  another,"  as  it  was  his  whim  to  refer  to  them. 
After  his  death,  which  occurred  a  few  years  ago, 
his  daughter  sold  the  collection  to  a  San  Francisco 
gentleman  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  letters  will 
ultimately  find  their  way  into  print,  revealing  as 

233 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

they  do  a  very  intimate  and  lovable  side  of  Steven- 
son's character. 

The  house  was  in  a  sad  state  of  disrepair,  the 
first  floor  being  occupied  by  a  sign-painter's  shop 
at  the  time  of  our  visit.  An  erect  old  fellow,  who 
looked  as  if  his  chief  failing  might  be  a  too  free 
indulgence  in  one  of  California's  chief  products, 
came  out  to  greet  us  as  we  paused  before  the  house, 
and  pointed  out  the  room  the  great  writer  occupied 
during  his  stay  in  Monterey.  It  must  have  been 
hard  indeed  for  this  prince  of  optimists  to  "travel 
hopefully"  under  the  conditions  that  surrounded 
him  those  few  months  of  his  life — exiled,  penniless, 
and  ill,  domiciled  in  such  rude  and  comfortless 
quarters,  he  must  have  been  as  near  despair  as  at 
any  time  in  his  career,  yet  out  of  it  all  came  some 
of  his  best  work. 

Our    informant    refused   a    fee    in    a    lordly 
manner. 

"I'm  a  retired  officer  of  the  United  States 
Navy,  a  classmate  of  Bob  Evans,  and  I  was  on  the 
Minnesota  during  the  fight  with  the  Merrimac,"  he 
declared,  and  left  us  with  a  formal  military  salute. 
Our  picture,  the  work  of  a  Monterey  artist, 
shows  the  harsh  outlines  and  bare  surroundings  of 
the  old  house  accentuated  by  a  flood  of  California 
sunshine. 

There  are  many  other  interesting  and  pictur- 
esque old  buildings  about  the  town,  among  them 
several  that  claim  the  distinction  of  being  the  first 
— or  last — of  their  kind  in  the  state.  A  tumble- 
down frame  structure  is  declared  to  have  been  the 
first  wooden  house  in  California,  built  in  1 849  of 

234 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

lumber  brought  from  Australia.  Talk  of  "carrying 
coals  to  Newcastle,"  what  is  that  to  bringing  lumber 
ten  thousand  miles  to  the  home  of  the  redwood! 
The  first  brick  house  and  the  first  adobe  are  also  to 
be  seen  in  the  town  and  the  first  theatre — where 
Jenny  Lind  sang  in  1 86 1  — still  stands. 

As  one  views  the  historic  buildings  of  Mon- 
terey, the  painful  thought  is  forced  upon  him  that 
nearly  all  are  in  a  deplorable  state  of  dilapidation 
and  that  many  will  have  disappeared  in  a  few  years 
unless  steps  are  taken  to  restore  and  preserve  them. 
Neither  Monterey  nor  the  State  of  California  can 
afford  to  lose  these  memorials  of  the  romantic  days 
of  old  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  an  enlightened 
movement  to  protect  them,  as  well  as  the  missions, 
may  soon  be  inaugurated  by  the  state. 

The  one  ancient  building  in  Monterey  which 
bears  its  years  very  lightly  is  the  fine  old  church  of 
San  Carlos.  This  is  often  confused  with  the  mis- 
sion, but  the  fact  is  that  it  was  the  parish,  or  pre- 
sidio church,  as  it  was  called  in  Spanish  days,  and 
was  really  built  as  a  place  of  worship  for  the  sol- 
diers, who  were  at  considerable  distance  from  the 
mission  proper  at  Carmel.  There  were  often  bicker- 
ings between  the  Indians  and  soldiers  and  the 
monks  judged  it  best  to  give  the  latter  a  separate 
chapel.  The  church  was  built  some  time  later  than 
the  mission — the  exact  date  is  not  clear — and  was 
enlarged  and  restored  about  sixty  years  ago.  The 
material  is  light  brown  stone  quarried  in  the  vicinity 
and  the  roof  is  of  modern  tiles.  The  pavement  in 
front  of  the  church  is  made  of  curious  octagonal 
blocks  which  we  took  for  artificial  stone,  but  which 

235 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

are  really  the  vertebrae  of  a  whale — reminding  us 
that  at  one  time  whale-fishing  expeditions  often 
went  out  from  Monterey. 

The  interior  is  that  of  a  modern  Catholic 
church,  but  there  are  numerous  relics  in  the  vestry 
which  the  priest  in  charge  exhibits  to  visitors  for  a 
small  fee;  candlesticks  and  vessels  in  silver  and 
brass,  and  richly  broidered  vestments  and  altar 
cloths.  Most  interesting  are  many  relics  of  Father 
Serra,  including  several  books  inscribed  by  his  own 
hand.  These  were  brought  from  Carmel  Mission 
when  it  was  finally  abandoned. 

Another  object  that  aroused  our  curiosity  was 
the  trunk  of  a  huge  oak  set  in  cement  and  carefully 
preserved.  This,  the  priest  told  us,  w^as  the  Serra 
Oak,  under  which  Viscaino  landed  in  1 602  and 
which  sheltered  Serra  himself  in  1770,  w^hen  he 
took  possession  of  Monterey  for  the  king  of  Spain. 
It  grew  near  the  present  entrance  of  the  presidio, 
but  withered  and  died  shortly  after  Father  Serra 
passed  away.  The  trunk  w^as  thrown  into  the  sea 
to  dispose  of  it,  but  two  pious  Mexicans  dragged 
it  ashore  and  it  was  finally  placed  where  we  saw  it, 
in  the  garden  of  San  Carlos  Church. 

The  church  stands  on  the  hill  which  overlooks 
the  town  and  of  old  must  have  been  the  first  object 
reared  by  human  hands  to  greet  the  incoming  mari- 
ners. At  one  time  it  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the 
bay,  but  this  is  now  obstructed  by  the  buildings 
of  St.  Joseph  School. 

Monterey  was  one  of  the  points  visited  by 
Dana  in  1  835,  towards  the  end  of  the  Spanish  dom- 
ination, and  the  picture  he  gives  is  a  charming  one : 

236 


-  a 


i    - 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

"The  pretty  lawn  on  which  the  village  stands, 
as  green  as  sun  and  rain  could  make  it;  the  low 
adobe  houses  with  red  tiles;  the  pine  wood  on  the 
south;  the  small  soiled  tri-color  flag  flying  and  the 
discordant  din  of  drums  and  trumpets  for  the  noon 
parade,"  were  the  salient  features  of  the  town  that 
he  sets  down.  Of  these,  the  low  adobe  houses  with 
the  red  tiles  and  the  pine  wood  still  remain,  but 
the  green  lawn  and  the  tri-color  flag  of  Spain  are  to 
be  seen  no  more. 

After  the  town  the  mission  will  be  the  next 
goal  of  the  tourist — if,  indeed,  it  has  not  been  the 
first  object  to  engage  his  attention.  It  is  on  the 
other  side  of  the  peninsula,  some  five  miles  from 
the  Del  Monte  and  a  short  distance  beyond  the 
lovely  little  village  of  Carmel-by-the-Sea.  The  road 
for  half  the  distance  climbs  a  steady  grade  and  then 
drops  down  through  the  village  to  the  shore  of  the 
bay.  Here,  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  rippling 
water,  sheltered  by  the  hills  on  the  land  side,  stands 
the  restored  mission  church  which  probably  out- 
ranks all  its  contemporaries  in  historic  significance. 
For  it  was  in  a  sense  the  home  of  the  pious  old  monk 
whose  zeal  and  energy  were  responsible  for  the  long 
chain  of  Christian  missions;  and  in  its  solemn  con- 
fines he  was  laid  to  rest.  We  saw  in  it  a  striking 
resemblance  to  the  presidio  church  which  we  had 
just  left,  a  square,  simple  bell-tower  with  a  domed 
roof  to  the  left  of  the  fachada,  which  is  of  the  pre- 
vailing Spanish  type.  This  is  broken  by  a  star  win- 
dow of  simple  yet  pleasing  design — the  only  at- 
tempt at  artistic  effect  about  the  severely  plain  old 
structure.     As  it  stands,  it  is  the  result  of  a  restor- 

237 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

ation,  thirty  years  ago,  from  an  almost  complete 
ruin — just  how  complete  one  may  judge  from  a 
drawing  made  by  Henry  Sandham  for  Mrs.  Jack- 
son's "Glimpses  of  California,"  which  appeared  in 
1882.  Only  two  slender  arches  of  the  roof  were 
standing  then  and  the  space  between  the  walls  was 
filled  with  unsightly  piles  of  debris.  Underneath 
this  was  the  grave  of  the  reverend  founder,  Father 
Serra,  the  exact  location  of  which  was  lost.  No 
doubt  the  earnest  appeal  of  the  author  of  "Ramona** 
had  much  to  do  with  the  rescue  of  Carmel  Mission 
Church  from  the  fate  which  threatened  it.  She 
wrote : 

"It  is  a  disgrace  to  both  the  Catholic  Church 
and  the  State  of  California  that  the  grand  old  ruin, 
with  its  sacred  sepulchres,  should  be  left  to  crumble 
away.  If  nothing  is  done  to  protect  and  save  it,  one 
short  hundred  years  more  will  see  it  a  shapeless, 
wind-swept  mound  of  sand.  It  is  not  in  our  power 
to  confer  honor  or  bring  dishonor  on  the  illustrious 
dead.  We  ourselves,  alone,  are  dishonored  when 
we  fail  in  reverence  to  them.  The  grave  of  Juni- 
pero  Serra  may  be  buried  centuries  deep,  and  its 
very  place  forgotten;  yet  his  name  will  not  perish, 
nor  his  fame  suffer.  But  for  the  men  of  the  country 
whose  civilization  he  founded  and  of  the  church 
whose  faith  he  so  glorified,  to  permit  his  burial-place 
to  sink  into  oblivion  is  a  shame  indeed." 

Such  an  appeal  could  hardly  pass  unheeded; 
the  old  church  rose  from  its  ruins  and  the  grave  of 
Serra  was  discovered  near  the  altar.  Above  it  on 
the  wall  is  a  marble  tablet  with  a  Latin  inscription 
which  may  be  translated  as  follows: 

238 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

"Here  lie  the  remains 

of  the  Administrator  Rev.  Father 

Junipero  Serra 

Order  of  Saint  Francis 

Founder  of  the  California  Missions 

And  President 

Buried  in  peace. 

Died  28th  day  of  August  A.  D.  1  784 

And  his  companions 

Rev.  Fathers 

John  Crespi 

Julian  Lopez 

and 

Francis  Lasuen 

May  they  rest  in  peace." 

Surely  it  is  a  pleasant  resting-place  for  the 

weary  old  priest  and  no  doubt  the  spot  above  all 

others  which  he  himself  would  have  chosen.    Could 

he  look  back  on  his  field  of  work  to-day  perhaps  his 

sorrow  for  the  wreck  and  ruin  of  his  cherished 

dream  might  be  mitigated  by  the  tributes  of  an 

alien  people  to  his  sincerity  of  purpose  and  beauty 

of  character. 

Beautiful  as  was  the  situation  of  nearly  all  the 
missions,  we  were  inclined  to  give  to  Carmel  pre- 
eminence in  this  regard.  Around  it  glows  the  gold 
of  the  California  poppy;  a  bright,  peaceful  river 
glides  quietly  past ;  rugged,  pine-crested  hills  rise  on 
either  side  and  a  short  distance  down  the  valley  is 
the  blue  gleam  of  Carmel  Bay,  edged  by  a  wide 
crescent  of  yellow  sand.  Beyond  this  is  the  rugged, 
cypress-crowned  headland.  Point  Lobos — ^why 
called  the  Point  of  Wolves  I  do  not  know  unless 

239 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

it  be  that  the  insatiable  waves  that  gnaw  ceaselessly 
at  the  granite  rocks  suggested  to  some  poetic  soul 
the  idea  of  ravenous  beasts. 

The  mission  is  the  sole  object  in  this  magnifi- 
cent setting.  The  tiny  cot  of  the  keeper  and  a  quiet 
farm-house  are  almost  the  only  indications  of 
human  life  in  the  pleasant  vale.  The  monastery 
has  vanished  and  only  a  bank  of  adobe  shows  where 
the  cloisters  stood.  The  roof  of  the  church  has  been 
renewed,  but  the  walls  are  still  covered  with  the 
ancient  plaster,  which  has  weather-stained  to  mot- 
tled pink  and  old  ivory.  It  is  now^  guarded  w^ith 
loving  care  and  with  the  reviving  interest  in  things 
ancient  and  romantic  in  California  is  sure  to  be  pre- 
served to  tell  to  future  ages  the  story  of  the  brave 
and  true  Little  Brother  of  St.  Francis,  who  sleeps 
his  long  sleep  in  its  hallowed  precincts. 

Carmel's  story  may  be  told  in  few  words. 
Founded  by  Serra  himself  in  1  770,  it  did  not  reach 
its  zenith  of  prosperity  until  after  his  death,  which 
occurred  in  1  784.  The  story  of  his  last  illness  and 
demise — a  pathetic  yet  inspiring  one — is  beauti- 
fully told  in  Mrs.  Jackson's  "California  Sketches." 
It  was  on  August  28th  that  he  finally  passed  away, 
so  quietly  and  peacefully  that  all  thought  him  sleep- 
ing. The  distress  and  sorrow  of  his  Indian  charges 
on  learning  of  his  death  is  one  of  the  strongest  trib- 
utes to  his  lovable  character.  A  year  after  his  death 
his  successor  as  president  was  chosen — Padre 
Lasuen,  who  himself  founded  several  missions,  as 
we  have  seen. 

The  hospitality  of  the  fathers  is  shown  by  the 
recorded  incident  of  the  English  navigator,  Van- 

240 


CYPRESSES,    POINT    LOBOS 
From   Photograph   by   Putnam   &   Valentine 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

couver,  who  reached  Monterey  in  1787.  Lasuen 
gave  a  grand  dinner  and  even  a  display  of  fireworks 
in  honor  of  his  guest,  although  he  belonged  to  a 
nation  very  unfriendly  to  Spain.  The  good  priest, 
however,  was  rebuked  by  the  governor,  who  was 
away  at  the  time,  for  allowing  the  Englishman  to 
discover  the  weakness  of  the  Spanish  defenses  in 
California. 

Carmel  Mission  declined  earlier  and  more 
rapidly  than  many  of  its  contemporaries,  for  in 
1833,  the  year  prior  to  secularization,  there  were 
only  one  hundred  and  fifty  Indians  remaining  and 
in  a  decade  these  had  dwindled  to  less  than  fifty. 
In  1845  the  property  was  completely  abandoned 
and  sold  at  auction  for  a  mere  trifle.  No  one  cared 
for  the  building  and  seven  years  later  the  tile  roof 
fell  in.     Of  the  restoration  we  have  already  told. 

One  will  hardly  return  from  the  mission  with- 
out a  glance  about  Carmel  village.  Indeed,  if  he  be 
fond  of  quiet  retirement,  and  his  time  permits,  he 
may  even  be  tempted  to  a  sojourn  of  a  day  or  more. 
It  is  a  delightfully  rural  place,  its  cottages  scattered 
through  fragrant  pines  which  cover  most  of  its  site, 
and  running  down  to  a  clean,  white  beach  along 
the  bay,  from  which  one  has  a  splendid  view  of  the 
opposite  shore,  including  Point  Lobos.  Carmel  is 
a  favorite  resort  for  college  professors  and  there 
are  numerous  artists  who  find  much  material  for 
their  skill  in  the  immediate  vicinity.  Our  frontis- 
piece, "The  Gate  of  Val  Paiso  Canyon,"  is  the  work 
of  a  talented  member  of  the  Carmel  Colony  and  a 
fine  example  of  some  of  the  striking  and  virile 
things   they   produce — though    we    must   concede 

241 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

them  a  great  advantage  in  the  wealth  of  striking 
and  virile  subjects  so  readily  at  hand.  Carmel 
claims  that  its  climate  is  even  more  genial  and 
equable  than  that  of  the  other  side  of  the  peninsula 
— but  I  believe  I  stated  at  the  outset  that  climate 
is  not  to  be  discussed  in  this  book. 

No  road  in  the  whole  country  is  more  famous 
than  Monterey's  seventeen-mile  drive;  one  could 
never  become  weary  of  its  glorious  bits  of  coast — 
wide  vistas  of  summer  seas  and  gnarled  old  cy- 
presses, found  nowhere  else  in  the  New  World.  It 
is  still  called  the  seventeen-mile  drive,  though  it  has 
been  added  to  until  there  are  forty  miles  of  mac- 
adam boulevard  on  the  peninsula.  Leaving  Monte- 
rey we  passed  the  presidio,  where  a  regiment  of 
United  States  regulars  is  permanently  stationed — 
being  mostly  troops  enroute  to,  or  returning  from, 
the  Philippines.  Near  the  entrance  is  a  marble 
statue  of  the  patron  saint  of  Monterey,  Father 
Serra,  commemorating  his  landing  in  1770.  It 
shows  the  good  priest  stepping  from  the  boat,  Bible 
in  hand,  to  begin  work  in  the  new  field.  This 
monument  was  the  gift  of  Mrs.  Leland  Stanford, 
to  whose  munificence  California  is  so  greatly  in- 
debted. A  cross  just  outside  the  entrance,  standing 
in  the  place  of  the  ancient  oak  w^hose  dead  trunk  we 
saw  at  San  Carlos  Church,  is  supposed  to  mark  the 
exact  landing-spot  of  both  Serra  and  Viscaino. 
There  is  also  the  Sloat  monument,  reared  of  stones 
from  every  county  in  the  state,  which  commemo- 
rates the  raising  of  the  American  flag  by  the  ad- 
miral in  1 846.     The  roads  in  the  presidio  are  open 

242 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

to  motors  and  one  may  witness  the  daily  military 
exercises  from  a  comfortable  seat  in  his  car. 

Beyond  the  presidio  is  Pacific  Grove,  a  resort 
town  nearly  as  large  as  Monterey — just  why  "Pa- 
cific Grove"  is  not  clear,  for  there  are  not  many 
trees  in  the  town.  It  was  founded  in  1869  as  a 
camp-meeting  ground  and  is  still  famous  as  a  head- 
quarters for  religious  societies.  From  here  one 
may  take  a  glass-bottomed  boat  to  view  the  "marine 
gardens,"  which  are  said  to  surpass  those  at  Ava- 
lon. 

Beyond  Pacific  Grove  w^e  passed  through  a 
dense  pine  forest — this  is  the  Pacific  Grove,  per- 
haps— and  coming  into  the  open,  we  followed 
w^hite  sand  dunes  for  some  distance  along  the  sea. 
A  sign,  "Moss  Beach,"  called  for  an  immediate  halt 
and  the  ladies  found  treasures  untold  in  the  strange, 
brilliantly  colored  bits  of  moss  and  sea-weed  washed 
ashore  here  in  unlimited  quantities.  It  is  a  wild, 
boulder-strewn  bit  of  beach,  damp  with  spray  and 
resonant  with  the  swish  of  the  waves  among  the 
rocks.  Beyond  here  the  road  continues  through 
dunes,  brilliant  in  places  with  pink  and  yellow  sand- 
flowers.  We  passed  Point  Joe,  Restless  Sea — 
where  two  opposing  currents  w^restle  in  an  eternal 
maelstrom — Bird  Rocks,  and  Seal  Rocks — the 
latter  the  home  of  the  largest  sea-lion  colony  on 
the  coast.  The  sea  was  glorious  beyond  descrip- 
tion; perhaps  the  same  is  true  of  any  sunny  day 
at  Monterey,  and  nearly  all  days  at  Monterey  are 
sunny.  It  showed  all  tones  of  blue,  from  solid  in- 
digo to  pale  sapphire,  with  a  strip  of  light  emerald 
near  the  shore,  edged  by  the  long,  white  breakers 

243 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

chafing  on  the  beach.  Here  and  there,  at  some 
distance  from  the  shore,  the  deep-blue  expanse  was 
broken  by  patches  of  royal  purple — an  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  floating  kelp.  A  clear  azure  sky  bent 
down  to  the  wide  circle  of  the  horizon,  with  an 
occasional  white  sail  or  steamer  to  break  the  sweep 
of  one's  vision  over  the  waste  of  shining  water. 
It  is  not  strange  that  Stevenson,  w^ho  had  seen  and 
written  so  much  of  the  sea,  should  say  of  such  a 
scene,  "No  other  coast  have  I  enjoyed  so  much  in 
all  weather — such  a  spectacle  of  ocean's  greatness, 
such  beauty  of  changing  color,  and  so  much  thunder 
in  the  sound — ^as  at  Monterey." 

The  climax  of  the  seventeen-mile  drive  is  Cy- 
press Point,  with  its  weird  old  trees.  Description 
and  picture  are  weak  to  give  any  true  conception 
of  these  fantastic,  wind-blown  monsters.  It  is,  in- 
deed, as  Stevenson  wrote — and  w^ho  w^as  able  to 
judge  of  such  things  better  than  he? — "No  words 
can  give  any  idea  of  the  contortions  of  their  growth ; 
they  might  figure  without  a  change  in  the  nether 
hell  as  Dante  pictured  it."  And  yet,  with  all  their 
suggestion  of  the  infernal  regions,  there  is  much 
of  beauty  and  charm  in  their  very  deformity.  There 
is  about  them  a  certain  strength  and  ruggedness, 
born  of  their  age-long  defiance  to  the  wild  north- 
western winds,  that  is  alike  an  admonition  and  an 
inspiration  to  the  beholder.  If  you  would  get  my 
idea,  select  one  of  these  strange  trees  standing  by 
itself  in  solemn  majesty  on  some  rocky  headland — 
as  shown  in  Mr.  Moran's  splendid  picture — and 
note  how  its  very  form  and  attitude  breathe  de- 
fiance to  the  forces  that  would  beat  it  down  and 

244 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

destroy  it.  Or  take  another  which  lies  almost  prone 
on  the  brown  earth,  its  monstrous  arms  writhing  in 
a  thousand  contortions,  yet  its  expanse  of  moss- 
green  foliage  rising  but  little  higher  than  your  head, 
and  note  how  it  has  stooped  to  conquer  these  same 
adverse  elements. 

Among  the  most  familiar  objects  of  the  Point 
is  the  "Ostrich,"  two  cypresses  growing  together 
so  as  to  give  from  certain  viewpoints  a  striking  re- 
semblance to  a  giant  bird  of  that  species.  It  is  not 
the  forced  resemblance  of  so  many  natural  objects 
to  fancied  likenesses,  but  is  apparent  to  everyone 
at  once.  The  traveler  of  to-day,  however,  will  look 
in  vain  for  this  curious  natural  freak ;  it  was  swept 
away  with  hundreds  of  other  ancient  pines  and 
cypresses  in  the  violent  hurricane  of  April   1917. 

At  the  extremity  of  the  Point,  the  road  turns 
and  enters  a  second  grove  of  cypresses  which,  being 
farther  removed  from  the  storm  and  stress  of  the 
sea,  are  more  symmetrical,  though  all  of  them  have, 
to  some  extent,  the  same  wind-swept  appearance. 
Their  branches  overarched  the  fine  road  and 
through  their  trunks  on  our  right  flashed  the  bright 
expanse  of  Carmel  Bay.  Our  motor  was  throttled 
to  its  slowest  pace  as  we  passed  through  the  mar- 
velous scenes  and  there  were  many  stops  for  photo- 
graphs of  picturesque  bits  that  struck  our  fancy. 

The  cypresses  were  superseded  by  pines  when 
we  came  into  the  projected  town  of  Pebble  Beach, 
which  is  being  vigorously  exploited  by  a  promotion 
company — a  rival,  we  suppose,  to  Pacific  Grove, 
which  lies  directly  opposite  on  the  peninsula.  In 
the  center  of  the  tract  is  Pebble  Beach  Lodge,  a  huge 

245 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

rustic  structure  of  pine  logs  from  the  surrounding 
forest,  which  serves  as  an  assembly  hall  and  club 
house  for  the  guests  of  the  Del  Monte.  A  short 
distance  beyond  Pebble  Beach  the  drive  swings 
across  the  peninsula  and  returns  to  the  Hotel  Del 
Monte. 

In  addition  to  the  route  following  the  coast — 
the  seventeen-mile  drive  proper,  w^hich  I  have  just 
described — there  is  a  network  of  boulevards  in  the 
interior  swinging  around  the  low^  hills  in  easy 
curves  and  grades.  A  moderate-powered  car  can 
cover  the  entire  system  on  high  gear,  even  to  Cor- 
ona Del  Monte,  the  highest  point  of  the  peninsula, 
which  takes  one  nearly  nine  hundred  feet  above  the 
sea  and  affords  a  far-reaching  outlook  in  all  direc- 
tions. The  dark  blue  bay  of  Monterey,  the  white 
crescent  of  the  beach,  the  drives,  the  pine  and  cy- 
press groves,  the  red  roofs  of  the  town,  and  the 
Hotel  Del  Monte  near  by,  half  hidden  in  the  dense 
green  of  the  forest  surrounding  it,  make  a  lovely 
and  never-to-be-forgotten  picture.  The  mountain 
to  the  east  is  Fremont  Peak,  forty  miles  away — a 
name  that  reminds  us  how^  much  the  Pathfinder 
figured  in  the  old  California  of  which  Monterey  is 
so  typical. 

They  told  us  that  Point  Lobos,  the  rocky,  cy- 
press-crowned headland  which  we  saw  across  Car- 
mel  Bay,  is  the  equal  of  anything  on  the  peninsula 
in  scenic  beauty,  and  there  we  wended  our  w^ay  on 
the  last  day  of  our  stay  at  Del  Monte.  Crossing 
to  Carmel,  we  glided  down  the  hill  past  the  old 
mission  and  over  the  river  bridge  at  the  head  of 
the  bay.     From  there  a  road  following  the  shore 

246 


A    FOREST    GLADE 
From  Original  Painting  by  Percy  Gray 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

took  us  to  the  entrance  of  Point  Lobos  Park,  which 
is  private  property,  and  a  small  fee  is  charged  for 
each  vehicle.  A  rough  trail  led  to  the  cypress  grove 
on  the  headland,  where  we  found  many  delightful 
nooks  among  the  sprawling  old  trees — grassy  little 
glades  surrounded  by  the  velvety  foliage — ideal 
spots  for  picnic  dinners.  In  one  of  these  is  the 
complete  mounted  skeleton  of  a  ninety-foot  whale, 
w^hich  might  serve  as  an  argument  against  the 
learned  critics  who  discredit  the  story  of  Jonah  and 
his  piscatorial  experience.  Like  the  pavement  of 
San  Carlos  Church,  it  is  another  reminder  of  one  of 
Monterey's  vanished  industries. 

A  good  authority  testifies  that  there  are  few 
more  strikingly  picturesque  bits  of  coast  on  the 
w^hole  of  the  Pacific  than  Point  Lobos.  The  high, 
rugged  promontory  falls  almost  sheer  to  the  ocean, 
w^hich  raves  ceaselessly  among  the  huge  moss- 
grown  boulders  that  have  yielded  to  the  stress  of 
storm  and  tumbled  down  on  to  the  beach.  The 
play  of  color  is  marvelous;  scarped  cliffs  of  red- 
brown  granite,  flecked  with  gray  and  green  lichens ; 
black  boulders  with  patches  of  yellowish-green 
moss;  and  hardy,  somber  trees  which  have  found 
a  footing  on  the  precipices,  here  and  there,  almost 
down  to  the  water's  edge.  Out  beyond  we  saw  a 
steely-blue  ocean,  with  frequent  whitecaps,  for  it 
was  a  fresh,  bright  day  with  a  stiff  breeze  blowing 
from  the  sea.  I  believe  there  may  be  finer  individ- 
ual trees  on  Point  Lobos  than  on  the  Monterey  pen- 
insula— some  of  them  in  their  kingly  mien  and  grim 
solemnity  reminding  us  of  famous  yews  we  had 

seen  in  English  churchyards  such  as  Twyford,  Sel- 

247 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

borne  and  Stoke  Pogis.  A  great  variety  of  wild 
flowers  still  farther  enhanced  the  charm  of  the 
place.  It  is  a  spot,  it  seemed  to  us,  where  anyone 
who  admires  the  sublime  and  beautiful  in  nature 
might  spend  many  hours  if  he  had  them  at  his 
disposal. 

Returning,  we  noticed  a  good-sized  building 
on  the  bay  with  the  sign,  "Abalone  Cannery,"  and 
our  curiosity  prompted  us  to  drive  down  to  it.  It 
was  not  in  operation,  a  solitary  Jap  in  charge  telling 
us  that  the  season  was  now  closed.  He  w^as  an 
obliging,  intelligent  fellow^,  and  showed  us  the  ma- 
chines and  appliances  of  the  plant,  explaining  as 
best  he  could  in  his  scanty  English.  The  abalones 
are  taken  by  Japanese  divers,  who  find  them  cling- 
ing to  rocks  under  the  water.  The  mussels  are  re- 
moved from  the  shells,  cooked  in  steam  drums,  and 
tinned,  the  product  being  mainly  shipped  to  Japan. 
In  this  connection  it  may  be  remarked  that  the 
fishing  industry  about  Monterey  produces  a  con- 
siderable annual  total,  several  canneries  being  in 
operation  in  the  vicinity.  Many  kinds  of  fish  are 
taken — and  as  a  field  for  the  sportsman  with  rod 
and  line  the  bay  is  quite  equal  to  Catalina  Island 
waters. 

A  narrow,  little-used  road  runs  down  the  coast 
from  Point  Lobos  for  a  distance  of  about  thirty 
miles.  Some  day  this  will  be  improved  and  carried 
through  to  Lucia,  ten  miles  farther,  forming  a  link 
in  the  real  "Coast  Highway" — a  road  actually  fol- 
lowing the  ocean — which  Californians  have  in 
mind;  nor  will  there  be  a  more  magnificent  drive 
in  the  world.     An  artist  acquaintance  of  ours — ^his 

248 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

name  is  familiar  as  one  of  our  greatest  landscapists 
— had  established  his  studio  on  this  road  three  or 
four  miles  below  Point  Lobos  and  his  realistic  paint- 
ings of  this  marvelous  coast  were  creating  a  furor 
in  the  artistic  world.  We  drove  down  to  visit  him 
one  glorious  evening  when  the  sea  was  full  of  light 
and  color  and  the  air  resonant  with  the  turmoil  of 
the  waves  among  the  rocks.  We  were  just  a  little 
concerned  as  our  heavy  car  crossed  a  high,  frail- 
looking  bridge  on  the  way,  but  maybe  it  was 
stronger  than  it  appeared.  Our  friend  had  built  a 
studio  on  a  headland  commanding  a  wide  sweep  of 
the  rugged  coast  and  here  we  found  him  busy  at 
his  easel.  He  had  made  an  enviable  reputation 
painting  old-world  scenes,  but  before  the  World 
War  had  abandoned  this  field  of  work  for  the  lure 
of  California,  to  which  a  brother  artist  had  called 
his  attention.  His  enthusiasm  for  his  new  field  of 
art  knew  no  bounds.  "I  have  seen  much  of  the 
most  impressive  coast  scenery  of  the  world,"  he 
declared,  "but  nothing  that  approaches  the  beauty 
of  the  Pacific  about  Monterey.  The  coast  of  Greece 
is  its  nearest  rival,  so  far  as  I  know,  but  even  the 
coast  of  Greece  did  not  appeal  so  strongly  to  my 
artistic  sense."  His  judgment  would  seem  to  be 
borne  out  by  the  instant  popularity  of  his  Point 
Lobos  marines,  which  have  found  an  eager  demand 
at  record  prices. 

On  our  return  from  the  studio  to  the  hotel  we 
had  such  an  enchanting  series  of  views  as  the  sun- 
set faded  into  twilight  that  we  could  understand  our 
friend's  enthusiasm  and  only  wished  that  the  state 
of  our  finances  permitted  us  to  carry  away  a  per- 

249 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

manent  reminder  of  this  wonderful  coast  in  the 
shape  of  one  of  his  paintings — an  indulgence  which 
we  had  to  reluctantly  forego. 

We  gave  our  last  afternoon  to  the  gardens 
about  the  hotel.  In  these  are  nearly  all  the  trees 
and  flora  of  the  Pacific  Coast.  There  are  over  four- 
teen hundred  varieties  of  plant  life,  among  them 
seventy-eight  species  of  coniferous  trees,  two  hun- 
dred and  ten  evergreens,  two  hundred  and  eighty- 
five  of  herbaceous  plants  and  more  than  ninety 
kinds  of  roses.  In  the  Arizona  Garden  are  nearly 
three  hundred  species  of  cacti,  comprising  almost 
everything  found  in  the  United  States.  Most  of 
the  plants  and  trees  are  labeled  with  scientific  or 
common  name,  but  we  gained  much  information 
from  a  chance  meeting  with  the  head  gardener.  He 
confessed  to  being  a  native  Englishman,  which  we 
might  have  guessed  from  the  perfect  order  of  the 
grounds  and  gardens. 

We  spent  the  evening  in  the  gallery,  a  spacious 
apartment  which  also  serves  as  a  ballroom.  Fre- 
quent concerts  are  held  here  in  which  a  splendid 
pipe-organ  plays  a  principal  part.  Several  hundred 
paintings  form  a  permanent  exhibition,  exclusively 
the  work  of  California  artists.  We  were  surprised 
at  the  uniformly  high  artistic  merit  of  the  pictures. 
The  collection  is  quite  the  equal  of  many  of  the 
best  exhibits  of  the  East.  The  uniform  excellence 
of  these  pictures  is  due  to  the  fact  that  every  one 
accepted  has  been  passed  on  by  a  committee  of 
distinguished  California  artists.  California  subjects 
predominate,  as  might  be  expected,  and  land-and 

250 


THE  CHARM  OF  OLD  MONTEREY 

seascapes  are  probably  in  the  majority.  The  pic- 
tures are  for  sale,  a  fact  which  enabled  the  writer 
to  secure  several  of  the  fine  examples  reproduced 
for  this  book. 


251 


XII 

MEANDERINGS  FROM  MONTEREY 
TO  SAN  FRANCISCO 

Usually  we  were  only  too  willing  to  leave  a 
hotel  for  the  open  road,  but  we  must  confess  to  a 
lingering  regret  as  we  glided  away  from  the  fairy- 
land of  Del  Monte  and  its  romantic  environs.  Our 
first  words  after  leaving  were  something  about  com- 
ing back  again — a  resolution  fulfilled  but  a  year 
later.  The  road  to  Salinas  was  rebuilding  and 
pretty  rough  part  of  the  way,  but  we  found  a  fine 
boulevard  when  we  returned  after  the  lapse  of 
several  months.  During  our  tours  we  had  bad 
going  in  many  places  where  state  highway  work 
was  in  progress  and  this  is  an  inconvenience  that 
the  California  motorist  will  have  to  suffer  for  some 
time  to  come — though  1  fancy  that  few  obstacles 
to  his  smooth  progress  will  be  more  cheerfully 
endured. 

Our  objective  was  San  Juan  Bautista,  the  next 
mission  of  the  ancient  chain.  Like  the  pious  pil- 
grim of  old,  we  would  visit  them  all — though  their 
shrines  be  fallen  into  decay  and  their  once  hospit- 
able doors  no  longer  open  to  the  wayfarer.  San 
Juan  lies  beyond  the  San  Benito  Hills,  the  blue 
range  rising  to  the  north  of  Salinas.  We  began  the 
ascent  with  some  misgivings,  for  at  Monterey  they 
declared  the  San  Juan  grade  the  steepest  and  most 
difficult  on  El  Camino  Real.     They  did  not  tell  us 

252 


CHLitCH    ANiJ    CKMKTKiiY,    kSAN    JUAN    BAUTISTA 
From    Photograph    by   Dassonville 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 

that  a  longer  road  by  the  way  of  Dumbarton  en- 
tirely missed  the  grade  or  we  probably  should  have 
gone  that  way.  We  are  glad  we  did  not  know  any 
better,  for  most  mountain  climbs  in  California  well 
repay  the  effort  and  this  was  no  exception.  The 
ascent  was  a  steady  grind  for  more  than  a  mile  over 
grades  ranging  up  to  twenty  per  cent  and  deep  with 
dust.  There  was  a  glorious  view  of  the  mountain- 
girdled  valley  and  the  ancient  village  from  the  hill ; 
we  paused  to  contemplate  it — and  to  allow  our 
steaming  motor  to  cool.  The  descent  was  a  little 
over  two  miles  and  steeper  than  the  climb ;  we  had 
a  distinct  feeling  of  relief  when  we  rounded  the 
last  corner  and  glided  into  the  grass-grown  streets 
of  the  village. 

I  hardly  need  say  that  to-day  a  broad,  easy, 
paved  road  swings  around  the  mountain  instead  of 
attempting  the  arduous  route  of  the  old  trail.  The 
little  run  between  Salinas  and  Bautista  is  only  a 
joy  ride  for  driver  as  well  as  passengers.  But  we 
are  none  the  less  secretly  pleased  that  we  "did" 
the  nerve-racking  old  grade — now  almost  aban- 
doned— for  such  things  are  usually  done  only  of 
ignorance  when  an  easier  and  safer  route  is  the 
alternative. 

San  Juan  Bautista's  excuse  for  existence  was 
the  mission  and  now  that  the  mission  is  a  shattered 
ruin  the  village  still  lives  on  without  any  apparent 
reason  for  doing  so.  It  is  one  of  the  least  altered 
towns  of  the  old  regime  in  California — not  unlike 
San  Juan  Capistrano,  which,  according  to  the  1910 
census  had  exactly  the  same  population  as  its  north- 
ern counterpart,  some  three  hundred  and  twenty- 

253 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

six  souls.  But  San  Juan  Bautista  is  more  somno- 
lent and  retired  than  Capistrano,  which  lies  on  the 
San  Diego  highway.  Sheltered  behind  the  mighty 
hills,  with  their  formidable  grades,  it  is  missed  by 
a  large  proportion  of  motorists  who  go  by  the  more 
direct  route  between  Salinas  and  Santa  Cruz.  Its 
very  loneliness  and  atmosphere  of  early  days  con- 
stitute its  greatest  charm;  in  it  we  saw  a  village 
of  mission  times,  little  altered  save  that  the  Indians 
here,  as  everywhere,  have  nearly  disappeared. 
There  are  many  old  adobe  houses — just  how  old  it 
would  be  hard  to  say,  but  doubtless  with  a  history 
antedating  the  American  occupation. 

The  village  surrounds  a  wide,  grass-grown 
plaza  upon  which  fronts  the  long,  solid-looking  ar- 
cade of  the  mission.  Through  this  we  entered  the 
restored  dormitory  and  a  portly  Mexican  woman 
left  her  wash-tub  to  greet  us.  The  padre,  she  said, 
was  old  and  blind  and  seldom  received  visitors.  We 
were  disappointed,  but  soon  found  this  apparently 
ignorant  housekeeper  fully  equal  to  the  task  she  had 
assumed.  She  led  us  to  the  church,  which  was 
unique  in  that  the  auditorium  had  three  aisles  separ- 
ated by  arches — something  after  the  style  of  many 
English  churches  we  had  seen.  It  w^as  in  use  until 
the  great  earthquake  of  1  906,  which  had  cracked 
the  arches,  shattered  the  walls,  and  left  it  in  such  a 
precarious  state  that  one  could  scarcely  stand  with- 
in it  without  a  feeling  of  uneasiness.  The  walls 
still  showed  the  original  decorations,  though  sadly 
discolored — these  were  done  in  paint  made  by  the 
Indians  from  ground  rock  of  different  colors.  The 
original  tiles  covered  the  roof,  though  they  were 

254 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 

rent  and  displaced,  allowing  the  winter  rains  to  pour 
through  in  places.  Early  repairs  and  restoration 
would  preserve  this  remarkable  church,  but  if  al- 
lowed to  remain  in  its  present  state  its  complete 
ruin  is  inevitable.  The  bell-tower  had  already  dis- 
appeared and  was  replaced  by  a  ridiculous  wooden 
cupola  totally  out  of  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  the 
mission  builders.  And  yet  we  can  hardly  censure 
the  fathers  in  charge  for  such  structures  as  this  and 
the  angle-iron  tower  at  San  Miguel,  when  w^e  con- 
sider the  scanty  means  at  their  disposal — public 
funds  should  be  available  to  maintain  these  historic 
monuments. 

It  was  a  relief  to  step  from  the  dismal  ruin  of 
the  church  to  the  w^ell-kept  cemetery,  with  its  care- 
fully trimmed  evergreens  and  flower  beds.  Here 
in  the  old  days  the  Indians  were  buried,  though  it 
is  not  in  use  now^.  Our  guide  showed  us,  with  a 
good  deal  of  pride,  her  flower  garden  on  the  other 
side  of  the  church;  most  of  the  flowers  and  plants, 
she  said,  had  been  collected  from  the  other  missions 
— she  had  visited  all  of  them  except  one.  Then  she 
led  us  into  the  plain — almost  rude — quarters  of  the 
old  priest  and  showed  us  the  relics  of  which  San 
Juan  Bautista  has  its  share.  There  was  a  curious 
organ  which  worked  with  a  crank  and  was  some- 
times used  to  call  the  Indians;  there  were  old  books, 
pictures,  and  furniture;  articles  in  wrought-iron, 
the  work  of  the  natives  under  the  tutelage  of  the 
padres ;  images  from  Spain  and  many  rare  embroid- 
ered vestments.  All  of  these  were  shown,  with  evi- 
dent reverence  for  the — to  her — sacred  relics  of 
the  olden  days.     It  was  a  labor  of    love    and    we 

255 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

could  but  respect  her  simple  faith  and  evident  loy- 
alty to  the  aged  priest,  who  manifestly  endured 
many  hardships  in  his  humble  field  of  work. 

San  Juan  Bautista  Mission  was  founded  in 
1 797  by  the  indefatigable  Lasuen,  who,  next  to 
Serra  himself,  was  the  most  active  force  in  pro- 
moting the  work  in  California.  The  site  was  a 
favorable  one  and  the  enterprise  was  successful 
from  the  start,  its  converts  exceeding  five  hundred 
in  less  than  three  years*  time.  Attacks  from  hostile 
Indians  and  several  severe  earthquakes  disturbed 
its  earlier  progress,  but  its  population  went  on 
steadily  increasing.  Twenty-five  years  after  its 
establishment  there  were  twelve  hundred  and  forty- 
eight  neophytes  and  it  ranked  as  one  of  the  most 
successful  of  all  the  chain.  The  beautiful  valley 
surrounding  the  town  responded  luxuriantly  to 
tillage  and  San  Juan  was  able  to  assist  its  sister 
missions  from  its  surplus. 

The  present  church  was  completed  in  1818 
and  a  curious  bit  of  the  record  is  that  the  decoration 
was  done  by  a  Yankee — assisted  by  Indians — ^who 
assumed  a  Spanish  name  for  the  occasion.  In  1 835, 
the  date  of  secularization,  the  mission  had  already 
begun  to  decline,  the  population  having  fallen  to 
less  than  half  its  greatest  number.  This  state  of 
affairs  was  true  of  so  many  of  the  missions  that 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  even  if  the  Mexican 
Government  had  never  molested  them,  their  ulti- 
mate extinction  would  only  have  been  delayed. 
Semicivilization  did  not  breed  a  hardy  race  and  the 
white  man*s  diseases  more  than  offset  his  improved 
methods  of  making  a  living.     The  records  state 

256 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN    FRANCISCO 

that  there  were  only  sixty-three  Indians  remaining 
at  the  mission  in  1835,  when  the  decree  went  into 
eflFect.  At  this  time  the  property  w^as  valued  at 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  The 
Mexican  governor,  Alvarado,  declared  that  seculari- 
zation was  a  success  here  and  at  San  Antonio, 
though  nowhere  else,  but  it  was  a  queer  kind  of 
success  at  San  Juan  Bautista,  for  all  traces  of  the 
community  disappeared  a  year  or  two  later. 

The  village  w^as  occupied  by  Fremont  in  1  846 
and  the  stars  and  stripes  w^ere  hoisted  over  the  mis- 
sion at  his  command.  Here  he  organized  his  forces 
for  the  conquest  of  the  south  and  marched  as  far 
as  San  Diego,  as  we  have  already  seen. 

Out  of  San  Juan  the  road  was  rough  and 
dusty,  though  we  came  into  a  fine  macadam  boule- 
vard some  distance  out  of  Watsonville.  Here  we 
entered  one  of  the  great  fruit-producing  districts  of 
California;  vast  orchards  of  apples,  prunes,  and 
cherries  surrounded  us  on  every  hand.  The  blos- 
soming season  w^as  just  past,  and  w^e  missed  the 
great  ocean  of  odorous  blooms  for  which  this  sec- 
tion is  famous. 

Watsonville  is  a  modern  city  of  perhaps  five 
thousand  people,  the  capital  of  this  prosperous  fruit 
and  farming  district.  It  is  only  a  few  miles  from  the 
ocean  and  the  summer  heat  is  nearly  always  tem- 
pered by  sea  breezes.  Its  broad,  well-paved  main 
street  led  us  into  a  fine  macadam  road  which  con- 
tinued nearly  all  the  way  to  Santa  Cruz. 

Santa  Cruz  lies  on  the  north  bend  of  the  bay, 
directly  opposite  Monterey,  and  is  known  as  one  of 
the  principal  resort  towns  of  the  California  coast. 

257 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

Its  population,  according  to  the  last  census,  was 
nearly  eleven  thousand  and  I  ran  across  some 
"boom"  literature  which  claimed  only  twelve 
thousand — an  unusual  degree  of  modesty  and  con- 
servatism for  a  live  California  town.  There  was 
also  a  mission  here,  though  it  has  practically  disap- 
peared. 

Santa  Cruz  was  associated  in  our  minds  with 
neither  seaside  resort  nor  mission,  but  with  the 
grove  of  giant  redwoods  second  only  to  the  mighty 
trees  of  Mariposa.  Our  first  inquiries  were  for  the 
road  to  this  famous  forest,  and  we  learned  it  was  a 
few  miles  north  of  the  town.  We  f ollow^ed  the  river 
canyon  almost  due  north  over  a  shelflike  road  cut 
in  the  hillsides  some  distance  above  the  stream.  It 
commands  a  beautiful  view  of  the  w^ooded  valley, 
which  we  might  have  enjoyed  more  had  we  not  met 
numerous  logging-wagons  on  the  narrow  way. 
The  drivers — stolid-looking  Portuguese — frequent- 
ly crowded  us  dangerously  near  the  precipice  along 
the  road;  in  one  instance,  according  to  the  nervous 
ladies  in  the  rear  seat,  we  escaped  disaster  by  a 
hair's  breadth.  According  to  the  law  in  California, 
a  motorist  meeting  a  horse-draw^n  vehicle  on  a 
mountain  road  must  take  the  outside,  even  though 
contrary  to  the  regular  rule.  The  theory  is  that  the 
people  in  the  car  are  safer  than  those  behind  a 
skittish  horse,  though  in  instances  such  as  I  have 
just  mentioned  the  motorist  faces  decidedly  the 
greater  danger.  We  climbed  a  gradual  though  easy 
grade  for  six  or  seven  miles  and  turned  sharply  to 
the  right  down  a  steep,  winding  trail  to  the  river 
bank. 

258 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 

We  left  the  car  here  and  crossed  a  high,  frail- 
looking  suspension  foot-bridge  which  swayed  and 
quivered  in  a  most  alarming  manner,  though  it 
probably  was  safe  enough.  The  trees  are  at  the 
bottom  of  the  canyon  in  a  deep  dell  shut  in  by 
towering  hills  on  either  side.  They  are  known  as 
Sequoia  Sempervirens  (a  slightly  different  species 
from  the  Sequoia  Gigantea  of  the  Mariposa  Grove) 
a  variety  never  found  far  from  the  sea.  The  grove 
is  private  property  and  the  guardian  nonchalantly 
said,  "Two  bits  each,  please,"  when  we  expressed 
our  desire  to  go  among  the  trees.  He  then  con- 
ducted us  around  a  trail,  reciting  some  interesting 
particulars  about  the  tawny  Titans. 

"There  are  eight  hundred  trees  in  the  grove," 
he  said,  "and  of  these  one  hundred  and  fifty  are 
over  eleven  feet  in  diameter  and  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  feet  high.  This  is  the  only  group  so 
near  the  coast  and  generally  they  grow  much  higher 
above  the  sea  level.  I  saw  two  of  them  fall  in  a 
terrific  storm  that  swept  up  the  valley  a  few  years 
ago,  and  the  shock  was  Hke  an  earthquake.  You 
can  see  from  the  one  lying  yonder  that  their  roots 
are  shallow  and  they  are  more  easily  overthrown 
than  one  would  think  from  their  gigantic  propor- 
tions. This  old  fire-hollowed  fellow  here  could  tell 
a  story  if  he  could  speak,  for  General  Fremont 
made  it  his  house  when  he  camped  in  this  valley  in 
'48.  Yes,  it  is  a  good  deal  of  a  picnic  ground  here 
in  season — the  grove  is  so  accessible  that  it  is  visit- 
ed by  more  people  than  any  of  the  others." 

All  of  which  we  counted  worth  knowing,  even 

though  recited  in  the  perfunctory  manner  of  the 

259 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

professional  guide.  One  needs,  however,  to  forget 
the  curio  shops,  the  pavilions  and  picnic  debris  and 
to  imagine  himself  in  the  forest  primeval  to  ap- 
preciate in  its  fullest  force  the  solemn  majesty  of 
these  hoary  monarchs.  They  are  indeed  wonderful 
and  stately,  their  tall,  tapering  shafts  rising  in 
symmetrical  beauty  and  grace  like  the  vast  columns 
of  some  mighty  edifice.  Millenniums  have  passed 
over  some  of  them  and  all  our  standards  of  com- 
parison w^ith  other  living  things  fail  us.  The  w^ords 
of  William  Watson  on  an  ancient  yew  recur  to  us 
as  we  gaze  on  these  Titans  of  the  w^estern  w^orld: 

"What  years  are  thine  not  mine  to  guess; 

The  stars  look  youthful,  thou  being  by," 
— ^but  our  musings  were  cut  short  when  w^e  noted 
that  the  shadows  were  deepening  in  the  vale.  We 
had  some  miles  of  mountain  road  to  traverse  if  we 
were  to  spend  the  night  at  San  Jose  and  we  re- 
traced our  way  to  Santa  Cruz  as  fast  as  seemed 
prudent  over  such  a  road. 

We  could  not  think  of  leaving  the  town  with- 
out a  visit  to  the  mission,  even  though  they  told 
us  that  little  but  the  old-time  site  could  be  seen. 
We  climbed  the  hill  overlooking  the  sea  to  a  group 
of  buildings  now  occupied  by  a  Catholic  convent; 
among  these  was  a  long,  low,  whitewashed  struc- 
ture, now  used  as  quarters  for  the  nuns.  This,  they 
told  us,  was  the  ancient  monastery.  Or,  more 
properly,  the  ancient  monastery  stood  here  and  the 
present  building  was  reared  on  its  foundations. 
The  church-tower  fell  in  1 840  as  the  result  of  an 
earthquake  and  ten  years  later  a  second  shock  de- 
molished the  walls  of  the  building.     Being  within 

260 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 

the  limits  of  the  town,  the  debris  was  not  allowed 
to  remain,  as  in  lonely  Soledad  or  La  Purisima,  and 
the  site  was  cleared  for  other  purposes.  And  this 
reminds  us  that  we  ow^e  the  existence  of  many  of 
the  mission  ruins  to  their  isolation;  wherever  they 
stood  within  the  limits  of  a  town  of  any  size  they 
either  have  been  restored  or  have  disappeared.  Of 
the  former  w^e  may  cite  Santa  Barbara  and  San 
Luis  Obispo  and  of  the  latter,  Santa  Cruz  and  San 
Rafael. 

The  mission  at  Santa  Cruz  wab-  another  of 
Padre  Lasuen's  projects — founded  under  his  direc- 
tion in  1  790.  It  never  prospered  greatly,  its  highest 
population  being  five  hundred  and  tw^enty-three  in 
1  796.  From  that  time  it  declined  rapidly  and  at 
the  secularization  in  1835  the  Indians  had  almost 
disappeared.  The  property  at  that  time  was  valued 
at  less  than  fifty  thousand  dollars  and,  as  we  have 
seen,  the  church  was  destroyed  five  years  later. 
Santa  Cruz  would  doubtless  rejoice  to  have  her  his- 
toric mission  among  her  widely  heralded  attractions 
to-day,  but  it  is  gone  past  any  rehabilitation. 

As  a  seaside  resort,  Santa  Cruz  is  one  of  the 
most  popular  in  California;  during  the  season  no 
fewer  than  thirty  thousand  visitors  flock  to  its 
hotels  and  beaches.  It  is  the  nearest  considerable 
resort  to  San  Francisco  and  a  large  proportion  of  its 
guests  come  from  that  city.  The  climate,  accord- 
ing to  the  literature  issued  by  the  Board  of  Trade, 
compares  favorably  the  year  round  with  Santa 
Barbara  or  Long  Beach.  It  claims  a  great  variety 
of  "amusement  features,  including  a  palatial  casino 
and  a   three-hundred-room,   fire-proof  hotel."      It 

261 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

seems  a  pleasant  place,  more  substantial  and  home- 
like than  the  average  resort  town. 

Retracing  our  way  for  four  or  five  miles  over 
the  road  by  which  we  entered  the  town,  we  left  it  at 
the  little  wayside  village  of  Soquel,  taking  an  abrupt 
turn  northward  and  following  a  wooded  canyon. 
The  road  ascends  the  western  slope  of  the  Santa 
Cruz  Mountains,  winding  through  a  forest  of 
stately  redwoods  intermingled  with  many  other 
varieties  of  trees.  These  crowd  up  to  the  road, 
overarching  it  in  places — as  beautiful  a  scene  of 
virgin  wildwood  as  we  had  yet  come  upon ;  through 
occasional  openings  we  had  far-reaching  views 
down  wooded  canyons  already  haunted  by  the  thin 
blue  shadows  of  the  declining  day.  The  grade  is 
moderately  stiff,  ranging  up  to  twelve  per  cent,  and 
the  road  was  deep  with  dust,  making  an  exceedingly 
heavy  pull,  and  more  than  once  w^e  paused  to  cool 
the  steaming  motor.  An  almost  continuous  climb 
of  a  dozen  miles  brought  us  to  the  summit  of  the 
range,  and  coming  to  a  break  in  the  forest  a  glorious 
view  greeted  our  vision — a  vista  of  green  hills  slop- 
ing away  to  the  sunset  waters  of  Monterey  Bay, 
with  dim  outlines  of  mountain  ranges  beyond.  A 
faint  blue  haze  hung  over  the  nearer  hills,  changing 
to  lucent  amethyst  above  the  bay  and  deepening  to 
violet  upon  the  distant  mountains.  An  occasional 
fruit  farm  or  ranch-house  reminded  us  that  we  were 
w^ithin  the  bounds  of  civilization;  and  the  Summit 
School,  near  by,  that  there  must  be  youngsters  to 
educate,  even  in  this  wild  region,  though  there  was 
little  to  indicate  where  they  came  from. 

The  descent  presented  even  more  picturesque 

262 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 

scenes  than  the  climb.  The  grade  was  steeper  and 
the  distance  less;  and  the  road  followed  the  moun- 
tain sides,  which  sloped  away  in  places  hundreds 
of  feet  to  wooded  canyons  now  dim  with  mysteri- 
ous shadows.  Majestic  redwoods,  oaks,  birches, 
pines,  sycamores,  with  here  and  there  the  red  gleam 
of  the  madrona,  pressed  up  to  the  very  roadside  and 
their  fragrance  loaded  the  air.  At  the  foot  of  the 
grade,  some  nine  miles  from  the  summit,  we  glided 
into  the  well-kept  streets  of  Los  Gatos,  the  "City 
of  the  Foothills,"  one  of  the  cleanest  and  most 
sightly  towns  that  the  wayfarer  will  come  across, 
even  in  California.  It  has  few  pretentions  homes, 
but  the  average  cottage  or  bungalow  is  so  happily 
situated  and  surrounded  by  green  lawns  dotted  with 
flower  beds  and  palms,  that  the  effect  is  more  pleas- 
ing than  rows  of  costly  houses  could  be.  In  the 
public  buildings  such  as  the  library  and  schools,  the 
Spanish  mission  type  is  followed  with  generally 
fortunate  results.  In  the  foothills  near  by  are  sever- 
al villas  of  San  Francisco  people  which  are  stead- 
ily increasing  in  number,  for  Los  Gatos  is  only  an 
hour  by  train  from  the  metropolis  and  has  hopes  of 
becoming  a  residence  town  of  wealthy  San  Fran- 
ciscans. 

Out  of  Los  Gatos  we  pursued  a  level,  well- 
improved  road  to  San  Jose,  running  through  the 
great  prune  and  cherry  orchards  for  which  the 
Santa  Clara  Valley  is  famous  and  which  gave  prom- 
ise of  a  bounteous  yield.  A  little  after  sunset  we 
came  into  the  city  of  San  Jose,  closing  an  unusually 
strenuous  run  over  steep  and  dusty  mountain  roads. 
We  found  the  new  Montgomery  Hotel  a  comfort- 

263 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

able  haven  and  its  modern  bathrooms  an  unspeak- 
able boon.  Our  first  move  w^as  to  segregate  our- 
selves from  the  California  real  estate  which  we  had 
accumulated  during  the  day  and  to  don  fresh  rai- 
ment, after  which  we  did  full  justice  to  a  late  dinner, 
despite  very  slack  service  and  not  altogether  un- 
exceptionable cuisine — excusable,  perhaps,  by  the 
lateness  of  the  hour. 

San  Jose  is  a  modern  city  of  forty  or  fifty 
thousand  people,  the  commercial  capital  of  the 
Santa  Clara  Valley.  There  is  not  much  w^ithin  the 
town  itself  to  detain  one  on  such  a  pilgrimage  as 
our  own.  The  mission  first  occurred  to  us  and  we 
learned  that  it  was  at  Mission  San  Jose,  twelve 
miles  from  the  city  to  which  it  gives  its  name;  our 
next  inquiry  was  concerning  the  Lick  Observatory, 
which  they  told  us  might  be  reached  by  a  twenty- 
five  mile  jog  up  the  slopes  of  Mount  Hamilton, 
overlooking  the  town  from  the  east.  It  was  clear 
that  we  should  have  to  take  a  day  for  these  excur- 
sions and  early  the  next  morning  we  were  off  for 
the  Mount  Hamilton  climb. 

Out  of  the  city  we  ran  straight  away  on  Santa 
Clara  Street  for  a  distance  of  five  or  six  miles  to 
Junction  House,  where  the  mountain  road  begins. 
It  was  built  nearly  forty  years  ago  by  Santa  Clara 
County  at  a  cost  of  eighty  thousand  dollars,  the 
work  being  authorized  to  secure  the  location  of  the 
Lick  Observatory  on  the  mountain.  It  is  a  smooth, 
well-engineered  road,  with  grades  not  exceeding  ten 
per  cent  excepting  a  few  steep  pitches  near  the 
summit.  It  swings  upwards  in  wide  arcs  or  narrow 
loops  as  the  topography  of  the  mountain  demands. 

264 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 

It  is  broad  enough  for  vehicles  to  pass  easily,  pre- 
senting no  difficulty  to  a  moderate-powered  motor, 
though  in  places  a  sheer  precipice  falls  away  from 
its  side  and  there  are  abrupt  turns  around  blind 
corners  which  call  for  extreme  care. 

The  winding  course  of  the  road  up  the  moun- 
tainside affords  vantage  for  endless  panoramas  of 
the  surrounding  country.  Indeed,  were  there  no 
observatory  on  Mount  Hamilton  the  views  alone 
w^ould  well  repay  the  ascent  and  we  paused  fre- 
quently to  contemplate  the  scene  that  spread  out 
beneath  us.  The  day  was  not  perfectly  clear,  yet 
through  the  shimmering  air  we  could  see  the  hazy 
waters  of  San  Francisco  Bay  some  twenty  miles  to 
the  northwest,  and  beyond  the  valley  to  the  south- 
west, the  blue  Santa  Cruz  Range  which  w^e  crossed 
the  previous  day.  Just  beneath  us  lay  the  wide 
vale  of  the  Santa  Clara — surely  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  prosperous  of  the  famous  valleys  of 
the  Golden  State — diversified  by  orchards  and  end- 
less wheatfields,  w^ith  here  and  there  an  isolated 
ranch-house  or  village.  The  foothills  nearer  at 
hand  were  studded  with  oaks  and  sycamores,  with 
an  occasional  small  farm  or  fruit  orchard  set  down 
among  them.  It  was  a  beautiful  day — the  partial 
cloudiness  being  atoned  for  by  many  striking  cloud 
effects  and  the  play  of  light  and  color  over  the 
landscape. 

Midway  of  the  ascent  is  a  little  settlement  in 
a  pleasant  grassy  dell,  where  a  plain  though  com- 
fortable-looking hotel — the  Halfway  House — offers 
the  wayfarer  an  opportunity  for  refreshments, 
which  can  not  be  obtained  at  the  summit.    Here  we 

265 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

arranged  for  a  lunch  on  our  return,  but  we  had  no 
idea  of  eating  it  in  the  hotel  with  the  delightful 
nooks  we  had  passed  still  fresh  in  mind.  The  last 
three  or  four  miles  of  the  climb  are  by  far  the  most 
difficult,  reminding  us  not  a  little  of  the  Mount 
Wilson  ascent;  but  we  experienced  no  trouble  and 
soon  came  to  the  open  summit  with  the  vast  dome 
of  the  observatory  crowning  it.  Around  this  clus- 
ters a  village  of  about  fifty  people  w^ho  live  here 
permanently — the  families  and  assistants  of  the 
men  who  devote  their  lives  to  the  study  of  the  stars. 
One  of  the  ladies  whom  we  met  in  the  observatory 
office  said,  when  we  asked  her  of  life  on  the  moun- 
tain, M 

"We  get  used  to  it,  though  it  is  cold  and  lonely 
at  times  and  we  feel  a  kind  of  desperation  to  get 
back  to  the  world.  But  w^e  do  not  complain;  the 
views  from  the  mountain  under  varying  conditions 
of  night  and  day  are  enough  to  atone  for  our  isola- 
tion. You  can  not  even  imagine  the  glories  of  the 
sunrise  and  sunset;  the  weird  effects  of  the  sea  of 
clouds  that  lie  beneath  us  at  times,  glowing  in  the 
sun  or  ghostly  white  in  the  moonlight;  the  vast 
wilderness  of  mountain  peaks  losing  themselves  in 
the  haze  of  distance  or  mantled  in  the  glaring 
whiteness  of  the  winter  snows.  All  these  and  many 
other  strange  moods  of  the  weather  bring  infinite 
variety,  even  to  this  lonely  spot."  And  yet,  for 
all  this,  she  confessed  to  an  intense  longing  to  make 
a  trip  to  "the  earth"  whenever  occasion  presented 
itself. 

The  obliging  janitor  shows  visitors  about  the 

observatory,  telling  of  its  work  and  explaining  the 

266 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 

instruments  with  an  intelligence  and  detail  that 
might  lead  you  to  think  him  one  of  the  astrono- 
mers— if  he  had  not  confessed  at  the  outset  to  being 
an  Englishman  in  the  humble  position  of  caretaker. 
And  we  might  have  known  that  he  was  an  English- 
man, even  if  he  had  not  told  us  so,  by  his  thorough- 
ness and  pride  in  his  job.  Among  the  instruments 
which  interested  us  most  was  the  seismograph, 
which  records  earthquakes  from  the  faintest  tremor 
hundreds  of  miles  away  to  the  most  violent  shock 
— or  perhaps  this  is  not  strictly  correct,  for  the 
great  quake  of  1 906  threw  the  needle  from  the  re- 
cording disk  and  left  the  record  incomplete. 

"There  is  seldom  a  day,"  said  our  guide,  "that 
a  quake  is  not  registered  and  so  long  as  they  occur 
regularly  we  have  little  to  fear,  but  an  entire 
absence  of  tremors  for  several  days  is  likely  to  pre- 
cede a  violent  shock." 

The  great  refracting  telescope  is  the  prime 
"object  of  interest"  to  the  visitor  and  we  were 
shown  in  minute  detail  how  this  is  operated.  It 
stands  on  a  granite  pedestal — underneath  which 
rests  the  body  of  the  donor,  James  Lick — in  the 
center  of  the  great  dome  which  one  sees  for  many 
miles  from  the  valley  and  which  revolves  bodily 
on  a  huge  platform  to  bring  the  opening  to  the 
proper  point.  This,  at  the  time  of  its  construction, 
was  the  largest  telescope  in  the  world,  the  great 
lens,  the  masterpiece  of  Alvan  Clark  &  Sons,  being 
thirty-six  inches  in  diameter.  It  is  equipped  with 
the  latest  apparatus  for  photographing  the  heavens 
and  some  of  the  most  remarkable  astronomical 
photographs  in  existence  have  been  taken  by  the 

267 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

observatory.  The  telescope  and  dome  are  operated 
by  electric  motors  and  our  guide  gave  exhibitions 
of  the  perfect  control  by  the  operator.  Besides  this 
there  is  a  large  reflecting  telescope  housed  in  a 
separate  building  and  several  smaller  instruments. 
Visitors  are  allowed  to  look  through  the  great  tele- 
scope on  Saturday  night  only,  but  are  shown  about 
the  observatory  on  any  afternoon  of  the  vv^eek.  No 
other  great  observatory  is  so  accommodating  to  the 
public  in  this  regard;  and  the  annual  number  of 
visitors  exceeds  five  thousand.  The  official  hand- 
book states  that  "w^hile  the  observatory  has  no 
financial  gain  in  the  coming  of  visitors,  no  pains 
are  spared  to  make  the  time  spent  here  interesting 
and  profitable  to  them."  The  same  book  gives  a  list 
of  the  important  achievements  of  the  Lick  Observa- 
tory, with  other  information  concerning  the  insti- 
tution and  may  be  had  upon  application  to  the 
managing  director. 

James  Lick,  who  devoted  three  quarters  of  a 
million  dollars  to  found  the  observatory,  was  a 
California  pioneer  who  left  his  whole  fortune  of 
more  than  three  millions  to  public  benefactions. 
He  was  born  in  Fredericksburg,  Pa.,  in  1796  and 
died  in  San  Francisco  in  1  876.  He  came  to  Cali- 
fornia in  1  847  and  engaged  in  his  trade  of  piano- 
making,  but  his  great  wealth  came  from  real  estate 
investment.  He  was  a  silent  and  somewhat  eccen- 
tric man — a  pronounced  freethinker  in  religious 
matters.  The  observatory  is  now  under  the  control 
of  the  University  of  California,  which  supplies  the 
greater  part  of  the  finances  for  its  maintenance. 

Returning  to  the  city,  we  found  there  was  still 

268 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 

time  to  visit  the  mission,  about  fifteen  miles  due 
north  on  the  Oakland  road.  This  is  a  macadam 
boulevard  through  a  level  and  prosperous-looking 
country  skirting  San  Francisco  Bay  and  the  run  was 
a  delightful  one.  Mission  San  Jose  is  a  tiny  village 
of  a  dozen  houses  and  a  few  shops,  bearing  little 
resemblance  to  its  bustling  namesake  to  the  south- 
ward. The  dilapidated  monastery  is  all  that  is  left 
of  the  old-time  buildings  and  the  rude  timber  arcade 
stands  directly  by  the  roadside.  We  found  a  young 
fellow  working  on  the  place  who  gladly  undertook 
to  act  as  guide.  He  proved  an  ardent  Catholic  and 
an  enthusiast  for  the  restoration  of  the  mission. 
This  work,  he  said,  had  been  undertaken  by  the 
Native  Sons  of  California  and  they  were  organizing 
a  carnival  to  raise  funds.  The  building  through 
which  he  led  us  is  a  series  of  dungeonlike  adobe 
cells,  with  earthen  floors  and  cracked  and  crum- 
bling walls;  it  is  roofed  with  willows  tied  to  the 
roughly  hewn  rafters  with  rawhide.  The  tiles  from 
the  ruined  church  are  carefully  piled  away  to  be 
used  in  the  restoration  and  our  guide  declared  that 
a  wealthy  Spanish  family  of  the  vicinity  had  a 
quantity  of  these  which  they  would  gladly  return 
when  needed.  The  church  was  destroyed  by  the 
earthquake  of  1  868  and  has  been  replaced  by  a 
modern  structure.  This  suffered  but  little  in  the 
great  quake  of  1  906,  but  we  were  shown  the  curi- 
ous spectacle  in  the  cemetery  of  several  marble 
shafts  broken  squarely  in  two  by  the  shock.  To 
the  rear  of  the  church  and  leading  up  to  the  orphan- 
age conducted  by  the  Dominican  sisters,  is  a  beauti- 
ful avenue  bordered  by  olive  trees  planted  by  the 

269 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

padres  in  mission  days.  This  is  crossed  by  a  second 
avenue  running  at  right  angles  and  no  doubt  these 
served  as  a  passageway  for  many  a  solemn  proces- 
sion in  days  of  old. 

The  location  is  charming  indeed;  one  can 
stand  in  the  rude  portico  of  the  dilapidated  building 
and  look  over  as  pleasant  a  rural  scene  as  can  be 
found  in  California.  The  green  meadows  slope 
toward  the  bay,  which  gleams  like  molten  silver  in 
the  late  afternoon  sun.  Beyond  it  is  a  dark  line  of 
forest  trees,  the  rounded  contour  of  the  green  foot- 
hills, and,  last  of  all,  the  rugged  outlines  of  the 
Santa  Cruz  Mountains  shrouded  in  the  amethyst 
haze  of  evening.  To  the  rear,  rolling  hills  rise  above 
the  little  hamlet  and  southward  stands  the  sturdy 
bulk  of  Mission  Peak. 

No  wonder,  with  such  beautiful,  fertile  sur- 
roundings, San  Jose  Mission  prospered  in  its  palmy 
days.  Founded  in  I  797 — the  fruitful  year  of  Padre 
Lasuen's  activity — it  reached  its  zenith  in  1820, 
when  its  Indian  population  numbered  seventeen 
hundred  and  fifty-four.  Its  property  at  seculariza- 
tion exceeded  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dol- 
lars in  value  and  it  even  seemed  to  prosper  for  a 
while  under  the  Mexican  regime.  Its  decline  began 
in  1  840  and  five  years  later  less  than  two  hundred 
and  fifty  natives  were  to  be  found  in  its  precincts. 
Of  the  wreck  and  rebuilding  of  the  church  we  have 
already  told ;  in  the  new  structure  may  be  seen  two 
of  the  original  bells,  nearly  a  century  old.  The 
baptismal  font  of  hammered  copper  is  still  in  use. 
It  is  about  three  feet  in  diameter  and  is  surmounted 

by  a  small  iron  cross. 

270 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 

A  few  miles  out  of  San  Jose  on  the  San  Fran- 
cisco road,  at  the  pretty  town  of  Santa  Clara,  was 
formerly  the  mission  of  that  name.  It  has  totally 
disappeared  and  on  its  site  stands  the  new  church 
and  the  buildings  of  Santa  Clara  College,  the  prin- 
cipal Catholic  university  of  California.  We  drove 
into  the  large  plaza  in  front  of  the  church  and 
walked  in  at  the  open  door.  The  interior  is  that  of 
a  modern  Catholic  church,  with  an  unusual  num- 
ber of  paintings  and  images,  among  the  latter  a 
gorgeously  painted  Santa  Clara  with  her  bare  foot 
on  a  writhing  snake.  The  paintings  are  of  little 
artistic  merit  and  the  effect  of  the  interior  is  rather 
tawdry.  The  slightly  unfavorable  impression 
speedily  fades  from  mind  when  through  an  open 
side  door  one  gets  a  glimpse  into  the  garden  around 
which  run  the  college  cloisters.  It  is  a  beautiful 
green  spot,  w^ith  olives  planted  in  mission  days, 
palms,  and  masses  of  flowers.  About  it  are  slight 
remains  of  the  old  cloisters ;  hewn  beams  still  form 
the  roof,  and  portions  of  the  walls  some  three  feet 
thick  still  stand. 

Santa  Clara  College,  the  oldest  on  the  coast, 
was  founded  in  1  855,  and  is  now  the  largest  Catho- 
lic school  west  of  the  Rockies.  The  buildings  are 
quite  extensive  and  the  mission  style  of  architec- 
ture appropriately  prevails.  In  its  museum  is  a 
good  collection  of  relics  once  belonging  to  the 
ancient  mission;  furniture,  candlesticks  in  silver 
and  brass,  vessels  in  gold  and  silver,  crucifixes,  bells, 
the  mighty  key  to  the  oaken  door,  embroidered 
vestments,  and  a  very  remarkable  book.  This  is 
an  old  choral  on  heavy    vellum,    hand-written    in 

271 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

brilliant  red  and  black ;  the  covers  are  heavy  leather 
over  solid  wood,  and  the  corners  and  back  are  pro- 
tected with  ornamental  bronze.  It  originally  came 
from  Spain  and  is  supposed  to  be  five  hundred  years 
old. 

Santa  Clara  Mission,  the  tenth  in  order,  was 
founded  in  1777,  twenty  years  earlier  than  its 
neighbor,  San  Jose,  and  the  close  proximity  caused 
heart-burnings  among  the  padres  of  Santa  Clara 
when  its  rival  was  first  projected.  They  declared 
that  there  was  no  necessity  for  it ;  that  it  was  not  on 
the  beaten  route  of  El  Camino  Real,  and  that  it 
encroached  on  Santa  Clara's  lands  and  revenues. 
The  dispute  assumed  such  proportions  that  a  special 
survey  was  made  in  1 80 1  to  prevent  further  con- 
troversy. Despite  the  contention  of  Santa  Clara 
that  there  was  no  room  for  its  rival,  it  did  not  lack 
for  prosperity,  since  in  1827  its  population  num- 
bered fourteen  hundred  and  twenty-four — about 
the  same  as  San  Jose,  so  there  seems  to  have  been 
ample  room  for  both.  At  secularization,  in  1835, 
there  were  less  than  half  as  many  and  after  that  the 
decline  was  rapid.  This  is  only  another  instance 
showing  that  the  regime  of  the  padres  had  begun  to 
decay  before  the  interference  of  the  Mexican  Gov- 
ernment. The  mission  fell  into  ruin  after  the 
American  conquest  and  the  debris  was  gradually 
removed  to  make  way  for  the  college  buildings. 

Santa  Clara  is  a  quiet,  beautiful  town  of  about 
five  thousand — really  a  suburb  of  San  Jose,  since 
they  are  separated  by  only  a  mile  or  two.  Its 
streets  are  broad  and  bordered  with  trees  and  its 
residences  have  the  trim    neatness    and    beautiful 

272 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 

semi-tropical  surroundings  so  characteristic  of  the 
better  California  towns. 

Northward  out  of  Santa  Clara  a  fine  macadam 
road  follows  the  shore  of  the  bay  at  a  distance  of  a 
mile  or  two.  In  the  days  of  the  padres  this  country 
was  a  vast  swamp,  but  it  is  now  a  prosperous  fruit 
and  gardening  section  which  supplies  the  San  Fran- 
cisco markets.  At  Palo  Alto  we  turned  aside  into 
the  grounds  of  Leland  Stanford  Jr.  University, 
which  sprang  into  existence  like  Minerva  of  old — 
full  armed  and  ready  for  business — ^with  nearly 
thirty  millions  of  endowment  behind  it.  It  immedi- 
ately took  high  rank  among  American  universities, 
but  as  its  attendance  is  limited  by  its  charter  to 
about  two  thousand,  it  can  not  equal  its  rivals  in 
this  regard. 

Everyone  knows  its  pathetic  story — how 
Senator  Stanford,  the  man  of  many  millions,  lost 
his  only  son,  a  boy  of  sixteen,  and  determined  to 
leave  the  fortune  to  "the  boys  and  girls  of  Califor- 
nia" as  a  memorial  to  the  idolized  youth.  A  little 
strain  of  selfishness  in  the  project,  one  may  think, 
since  if  Leland  Stanford  Jr.  had  lived  it  is  unlikely 
that  his  father  would  have  remembered  the  boys 
and  girls  of  his  state,  but  you  forget  all  about  this 
when  you  enter  the  precincts  of  this  magnificent 
institution.  It  is  free  from  the  antiquated  buildings 
and  equipment  of  the  schools  of  slow  growth,  and 
full  scope  was  given  to  architects  to  produce  a 
group  of  buildings  harmonious  in  design  and  per- 
fectly adapted  to  the  purposes  which  they  serve. 
The  mission  design  properly  prevails,  carried  out 
in  brown  stone  and  red  tiles.     The  main  buildings 


273 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

are  ranged  round  a  quadrangle  586x246  feet,  upon 
which  the  arches  of  the  cloisters  open  and  in  the 
center  of  this  was  a  bronze  group  of  the  donor,  his 
wife,  and  son,  since  removed  to  the  University 
Museum. 

The  earthquake  of   1906  dealt  severely  with 
Stanford  University,  destroying  the  library  build- 
ing, the  great  memorial  arch,    and    wrecking    the 
memorial  chapel,  said  to  be  the  finest  in  America. 
The  latter  was  being  restored  at  the  time  of  our 
visit,  a  timber  roof  replacing    the    former    stone- 
vaulted  ceiling.     The  structure  both  inside  and  out 
bears   many   richly   colored   mosaics   representing 
historic  and  scriptural  subjects;  in  this  particular  it 
is  more  like  St.  Mark's  of  Venice  than  any  other 
church  that  I  know  of.     It  is  said  that  a  large  part 
of  the  destruction  done  by  the  earthquake  was  due 
to  flimsy  work  on  the  part  of  the  builders.    Fortun- 
ately, the  low,  solid  structures   around   the    quad- 
rangle were  practically  unharmed,  and  the  damage 
done  is  being  repaired  as  rapidly  as  possible.     The 
grounds  occupied  by  the  University  were  formerly 
Senator  Stanford's  Palo  Alto  estate  and  comprised 
about  nine  thousand  acres.    From  the  campus  there 
are  views  of  the  bay,  of  the  Coast  Range,  including 
Mount  Hamilton  with  the  Lick  Observatory,  and 
of  the  rolling  foothills  and  magnificent  redwood 
forests  toward  Santa  Cruz.    The  university  is  open 
to  students  from  everywhere  and  owing  to  its  vast 
endowment,  instruction  is  absolutely  free. 

Palo  Alto  is  a  handsome  town  of  about  six 
thousand  people.  Its  climate  is  said  to  be  much 
pleasanter  the  year  round  than  that  of  San  Fran- 

274 


MONTEREY   TO   SAN   FRANCISCO 

cisco.  A  local  advertising  prospectus  gives  this 
pleasing  description  of  the  climatic  conditions: 

"There  is  no  extreme  cold,  and  there  are  no 
severe  storms.  Even  the  rainy  season,  between 
December  and  March,  averages  about  fifteen  bright 
warm  days  in  each  month ;  and  flowers  blossoming 
on  every  hand  make  the  winter  season  a  delightful 
part  of  the  year.  The  acacia  trees  begin  blooming 
in  January,  the  almonds  in  February,  and  the 
prunes,  peaches,  and  cherries  are  all  in  bloom  by 
the  last  of  March  or  the  first  of  April,  when  the 
blossom  festival  for  the  whole  valley  is  held  in  the 
foothills  at  Saratoga,  a  few  miles  by  electric  line 
from  Palo  Alto." 

From  Palo  Alto  we  followed  the  main  highway 
— El  Camino  Real — to  San  Francisco.  It  is  a  broad 
macadam  road,  but  at  the  time  in  sad  disrepair,  un- 
mercifully rough  and  full  of  chuck-holes.  It  was 
being  rebuilt  in  places,  compelling  us  to  take  a 
roundabout  route,  which,  with  much  tire  trouble, 
delayed  our  arrival  in  San  Francisco  until  late  in  the 
afternoon,  though  the  distance  is  but  fifty-two  miles 
from  San  Jose. 

It  looked  as  if  our  troubles  were  going  to  have 
a  still  more  painful  climax  when,  as  we  entered  the 
city,  a  policeman  dashed  at  us,  bawling, 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  driving  at 
that  crazy  rate?  Do  you  want  to  kill  all  these 
children?" 

As  we  were  not  exceeding  twenty  miles  and 

were  quite  free  from  any  homicidal  designs  against 

the  children — of  whom  not  a  single  one  was  in 

sight  on  the  street — we  mildly  disclaimed  any  such 

275 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

cruel  intention  as  the  guardian  of  the  law  imputed 
to  us.  We  had  learned  the  futility  of  any  alterca- 
tion with  a  policeman  and  by  exceeding  humility 
w^e  gained  permission  to  proceed.  A  little  back- 
talk  in  self-defense  would  doubtless  have  resulted 
in  a  trip  to  the  station  house,  w^here  we  should  have 
been  at  every  disadvantage.  I  attribute  in  some 
degree  our  lucky  escape  from  arrest  to  the  fact  that 
we  always  adopted  an  exceedingly  conciliatory  at- 
titude towards  any  policeman  who  approached  us, 
even  if  we  sometimes  thought  him  over-officious 
or  even  impudent.  A  soft  answer  we  found  more 
efficient  in  turning  away  his  wrath  and  gaining  our 
point  than  any  attempt  at  self-justification  could 
possibly  have  been^-even  though  we  knew  we 
were  right. 


276 


XIII 
TO  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  LAKE  VALLEY 

A  splendid  view  of  the  Golden  Gate,  through 
which,  between  opposing  headlands,  the  tides  of 
the  Pacific  pour  into  the  waters  of  San  Francisco's 
great  inland  bay,  may  be  had  from  the  ferry  be- 
tween the  city  and  Sausalito.  The  facilities  for 
carrying  motor  cars  were  good  and  charges  reason- 
able. We  w^ere  speedily  set  down  on  the  northern 
side  and,  without  entering  the  little  town,  took  to 
the  road  forthwith,  closely  following  the  shores  of 
the  bay. 

A  dozen  miles  of  rough  going  brought  us  to 
San  Rafael,  where  in  1817  the  padres  from  Mission 
Dolores  in  San  Francisco  founded  the  twentieth, 
and  last  but  one,  of  the  California  missions.  George 
Wharton  James  declares  that  this  mission  was  real- 
ly intended  as  a  health  resort  for  neophytes  from 
San  Francisco  who  had  fallen  ill  of  consumption, 
which  had  become  a  terrible  scourge  among  the 
Indians  around  the  bay.  During  the  first  three 
years  after  the  founding  of  San  Rafael,  nearly  six 
hundred  neophytes  were  transferred  to  the  new 
establishment,  and  in  1828  its  population  had 
reached  eleven  hundred  and  forty.  Its  buildings 
were  never  very  substantial  and  the  total  value  of 
all  property  at  secularization  was  reckoned  at  only 
fifteen  thousand  dollars.  Fremont  took  possession 
of  the  town  in  1 846  without  opposition.     After  his 

277 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

departure  the  mission  buildings  were  unoccupied 
and  speedily  fell  into  ruin. 

In  response  to  our  inquiries,  a  citizen  directed 
us  to  the  Catholic  parsonage.  The  priest  greeted 
us  courteously  and  told  us  that  not  a  trace  of  the 
mission  now  remained.  In  his  garden  he  pointed 
out  some  old  pear  trees  planted  by  the  padres  of 
San  Rafael  Mission  in  early  days — almost  the  sole 
existing  relics.  The  church  near  by  is  modern  and 
of  no  especial  interest.  The  site  w^as  an  ideal  one 
and  the  sheltered  valley,  with  the  green  w^ooded 
hills  that  encircle  it,  was  a  fit  place  of  rest  for  the 
invalid  neophytes.  San  Rafael  is  now  a  substantial- 
ly built,  prosperous-looking  town  of  about  six 
thousand  people  and  a  favorite  suburban  residence 
place  for  San  Francisco  business  men. 

A  well-improved  highway  leads  through  roll- 
ing hills  from  San  Rafael  to  Petaluma,  w^hence  a 
detour  of  a  dozen  miles  eastward  takes  us  to  historic 
Sonoma — the  farthest  outpost  of  Spanish  civiliza- 
tion in  California.  Here  the  twenty-first  and  last 
mission  of  the  chain  was  founded  in  1823,  with  a 
view  of  checking  the  influence  of  the  Russians,  who 
were  filling  the  country  to  the  north.  It  never  at- 
tained great  importance,  though  during  the  short 
period  of  its  existence  its  population  reached  about 
seven  hundred.  In  1 834  the  presidio  or  military 
establishment  of  San  Francisco  was  transferred 
here  to  counteract  Russian  and  American  encroach- 
ments. The  governor,  Vallejo,  took  command  of 
the  post  in  person  and,  it  is  recorded,  supported  the 
enterprise  at  his  own  expense.  He  appears  to  have 
been  a  fine  type  of  the  old-time  Spanish  grandee, 

278 


TO  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  LAKE  VALLEY 

and  his  hacienda  or  residence  still  stands,  though 
now  deserted,  about  five  miles  northwest  of  the 
town.  This  is  of  the  usual  Spanish  type,  but  on  a 
much  grander  scale  than  any  other  of  the  early 
California  homes  still  standing.  Its  facade  is  three 
hundred  feet  in  length  and  two  wings  extend  to  the 
rear,  enclosing  a  spacious  patio  which  overlooks  the 
valley  from  its  open  side.  Double  balconies  sup- 
ported by  heavy  timbers  run  around  the  entire  out- 
side. The  house  is  solidly  built;  its  walls,  no  less 
than  six  feet  in  thickness,  are  constructed  of  adobe. 
Its  hewn  beams  are  bound  together  with  rawhide 
thongs  and  the  lighter  timbers  are  fastened  with 
wooden  pegs,  not  a  nail  being  used.  Stout  iron 
grilles  and  heavy  wooden  shutters  protect  the  win- 
dows and  the  doors  are  provided  with  wickets  so 
that  the  house  could  easily  be  converted  into  a  de- 
fensive fortress. 

Vallejo  also  had  a  town  house  in  Sonoma,  but 
this  has  nearly  disappeared.  There  are  still  many 
old  adobes  surrounding  the  spacious  plaza — for  the 
village  was  laid  out  on  regal  scale ;  many  date  from 
mission  days,  though  none  of  them  has  any  especial 
historic  importance. 

The  mission  church  stands  at  the  northeast 
angle  of  the  plaza ;  it  was  in  use  until  about  twenty- 
five  years  ago,  when  it  was  wrecked  by  an  earth- 
quake, and  since  then  neglect  and  winter  rains 
nearly  completed  the  work  of  ruin.  The  property 
was  acquired  by  the  Landmarks  Club,  which,  hav- 
ing no  funds  for  restoration,  offered  it  to  the  state 
as  an  historic  monument.     It  was  accepted  by  a 

special  act  of  the  legislature  and  a  small  fund  pro- 

279 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

vided  to  restore  and  maintain  the  buildings. 
At  the  time  of  our  visit  work  was  in  progress  and 
was  being  carried  out  on  original  lines  as  nearly  as 
possible.  The  old  tiles  had  been  restored  to  the 
roof  and  the  rents  in  the  walls  repaired  with  sun- 
dried  adobes.  But  there  w^as  no  one  to  show  us 
about  or  to  preserve  the  relics  and  traditions  of  the 
mission.  In  this  regard  there  w^ill  always  be  an 
advantage  in  having  the  original  owner — the  Cath- 
olic church — in  charge,  for  it  means  that  "open 
house"  to  visitors  will  be  kept  at  all  times.  We 
were  gratified  to  learn,  however,  that  historic 
Sonoma  will  not  be  allowed  to  fall  into  ruin,  as  we 
had  been  led  to  expect  from  descriptions  by  recent 
visitors. 

In  the  plaza  just  opposite  the  mission  is  the 
pole  upon  which  the  American  insurgents  hoisted 
the  California  bear  flag  in  1 846.  This  party,  under 
Elzekiel  Merritt,  started  from  Captain  Fremont's 
camp  near  Sutter's  Fort  (Sacramento)  and  halted 
some  distance  from  the  town  until  midnight.  At 
daybreak  they  marched  hurriedly  down  the  valley 
and  took  General  Vallejo  and  his  scanty  garrison 
prisoners  of  war. 

"A  man  named  Todd,"  according  to  an  eye- 
witness, "proceeded  to  make  a  flag  for  the  occasion 
by  painting  a  red  star  on  a  piece  of  cotton  cloth, 
when  he  w^as  reminded  that  Texas  had  already 
adopted  this  emblem.  The  grizzly  bear  was  then 
substituted  and  the  words,  'Republic  of  California,* 
added  in  common  writing  ink.  The  flag  was  hoisted 
amidst  cheers  from  the  entire  company  and  re- 
mained afloat  for  several  weeks  until  Lieutenant 

280 


TO  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  LAKE  VALLEY 

Revere  of  the  Portsmouth  came  to  raise  the  stars 
and  stripes  over  it  after  the  capture  of  Monterey." 

This  event  is  commemorated  by  a  huge  granite 
boulder  near  the  flagstaff  in  the  plaza  of  Sonoma. 
It  bears  a  reproduction  of  the  original  flag  in  bronze 
and  a  tablet  of  the  same  metal  with  the  inscription, 
"Bear  flag,  raised  June  1  4,  1  846 — erected  July  4, 
1907.  S.  O.  W.  C."  It  serves  to  impress  on  the 
infrequent  visitor  that  the  modest  little  village  has 
an  historic  past  that  its  more  pretentious  neighbors 
well  might  envy. 

The  homestead  which  General  Vallejo  occu- 
pied after  these  events  and  until  the  time  of  his 
death  still  stands  but  a  short  distance  from  the 
town,  and  is  approached  through  a  beautiful  avenue 
of  ancient  palms. 

It  is  quite  as  he  left  it,  in  a  garden  overgrown 
with  roses  and  geraniums  and  shaded  by  lemon  and 
orange  trees  intermingled  with  magnolias  and 
palms.  This  house  is  now  occupied  by  General 
Vallejo's  youngest  daughter,  who  still  treasures 
many  mementoes  of  her  father  and  of  mission  days. 

A  well-improved  road  leads  from  Sonoma  to 
Santa  Rosa.  The  latter  is  a  thriving  town  of  ten 
thousand  people  and  to  all  appearances  has  com- 
pletely recovered  from  the  severe  damage  inflicted 
upon  it  by  the  earthquake  of  1  906.  It  is  the  home 
of  a  man  whose  fame  is  wider  than  that  of  the  town, 
for  no  doubt  thousands  have  heard  of  Luther  Bur- 
bank  who  do  not  know  that  he  lives  in  Santa  Rosa. 
We  passed  his  experiment  station  at  Sevastopol, 
seven  miles  from  his  home  town.     We  wished  we 

might  see  the  wizard  and  his  work,  but  he  is  too 

281 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

busy  to  be  troubled  by  tourists  and  can  be  seen 
only  by  special  introduction.  Santa  Rosa  is  the 
county  seat  of  Sonoma  County — succeeding  the 
village  of  Sonoma  in  1  856 — and  a  new  court  house, 
just  completed,  would  do  credit  to  any  city  in  size 
and  architectural  design — another  example  of  the 
far-sightedness  of  California  communities.  The 
Baptist  Church  is  pointed  out  as  an  unique  curios- 
ity, for  it  was  built  of  a  single  redwood  tree — and 
it  is  a  good-sized  church,  too. 

Out  of  Santa  Rosa  we  came  into  the  Russian 
River  Valley, — which,  with  many  other  names  in 
this  vicinity,  reminded  us  that  at  one  time  Russia 
had  designs  upon  our  Golden  West — certainly  one 
of  the  loveliest  and  most  fertile  of  California  vales. 
Here  and  in  Napa  Valley  just  over  the  range  to  the 
east  are  the  Italian  colonies,  which  produce  vast 
quantities  of  wine.  The  well-improved  road  fol- 
lows the  center  of  the  narrow  green  valley,  shut  in 
by  blue  hill  ranges  on  either  hand  and  covered  with 
great  vineyards.  In  places  these  ascend  the  steep 
hillsides — recalling  the  valley  of  the  Rhine — and 
they  show  everywhere  the  perfect  care  and  cultiva- 
tion characteristic  of  old-world  vineyards. 

A  little  beyond  Healdsburg,  state  highway 
construction  barred  the  main  road  west  of  the  river 
and  we  were  forced  to  cross  a  rickety  bridge  into  a 
rather  forbidding-looking  byroad  on  the  eastern 
side.  At  the  moment  this  seemed  a  small  calamity, 
for  we  were  already  late  and  the  road  appeared 
favorable  for  anything  but  speed.  But  we  had  not 
gone  far  until  the  entrancing  beauty  of  the  scenery 
made  us  rejoice  that  chance  had  led  us  into  this 

282 


TO  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  LAKE  VALLEY 

route,  which  my  notes  declare  "one  of  the  most  pic- 
turesque on  our  entire  tour."  The  sinuous,  undu- 
lating road  closely  follows  the  course  of  the  stream, 
which  lay  quietly  in  deep  emerald-green  pools,  or 
dashed  in  incredibly  swift  foaming  cascades  over 
its  rocky  bed.  The  fine  trees — oaks,  sycamores, 
madronas,  pines,  redw^oods,  and  many  other 
varieties — crow^d  closely  up  to  the  narrow^  road  and 
climb  to  the  very  top  of  the  rugged  slopes  on  either 
hand.  In  places  there  are  bold  cliffs  overhanging 
the  river,  one  great  rock,  a  vast  expanse  of  tawny 
brown,  spangled  with  moss  and  lichens,  rising  to  a 
height  of  several  hundred  feet.  Just  off  this  road 
is  Geyserville,  in  the  vicinity  of  which  are  geysers 
and  hot  springs  similar  to  those  of  the  Yellowstone 
Park. 

At  Cloverdale  we  came  into  the  main  high- 
way, which  here  begins  a  steady  climb  up  the 
mountains  at  the  head  of  the  valley,  the  grades 
ranging  six  to  ten  per  cent.  The  road  follows  the 
river  canyon  and  there  were  many  picturesque 
glimpses  of  the  dashing  stream  through  the  trees 
on  our  left.  At  Pieta  Station — the  railroad  runs  on 
the  western  side  of  the  river — we  made  a  sharp  turn 
to  the  right,  following  Pieta  grade,  which  cuts 
squarely  across  the  mountain  range.  The  road  is 
exceedingly  tortuous,  climbing  the  giant  hills  in 
long  loops  and,  though  none  of  the  grades  are 
heavy,  caution  was  very  necessary.  Here  we  ran 
through  the  "forest  primeval;"  nature  was  in  its 
pristine  beauty,  unspoiled  by  the  hand  of  man.  No 
human  habitation  was  in  sight  for  miles  and  wild 
life  abounded.     Rabbits,  snakes,  and  quails  scurried 

283 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

across  the  road  and  birds  flitted  through  the  trees. 
Wild  flowers  bloomed  in  profusion  in  the  glades 
and  flowering  shrubs  such  as  the  wild  lilac  and  dog- 
w^ood  gave  a  delightful  variation  from  the  prevail- 
ing green  of  the  trees.  This  is  a  toll  road  and  at  the 
summit  of  the  grade,  eight  miles  from  Pieta,  a  gate 
barred  our  way  and  we  were  required  to  pay  a  dollar 
to  proceed.  We  found  ourselves  in  no  hurry,  how- 
ever, despite  the  fact  that  the  sun  was  just  setting, 
for  from  this  spot  we  had  our  first  view  of  Clear 
Lake  Valley.  Beyond  a  long  vista  of  wooded  hills, 
set  like  a  great  gem  in  the  green  plain,  the  lake 
shimmered  in  the  subdued  light.  In  the  far  distance 
other  mountain  ranges  faded  aw^ay  into  the  violet 
haze  of  the  gathering  twilight. 

The  descending  road  is  steeper  and  rougher 
than  the  climb  to  the  summit,  though  the  distance 
is  not  so  great.  At  the  foot  of  the  grade  is  Highland 
Springs,  with  a  summer  resort  hotel  not  yet  open, 
and  after  this  a  straight,  level  road  runs  directly 
northward  to  Lakeport.  It  is  a  little,  isolated  town 
of  a  thousand  people — there  is  no  railroad  in  Clear 
Lake  Valley — and  its  hotel  is  a  typical  country- 
town  inn.  There  is  another  hotel  which  keeps  open 
only  during  the  summer  season,  for  a  small  number 
of  discerning  people  come  to  Clear  Lake  for  their 
summer  vacation.  At  the  Garrett,  however,  w^e 
were  made  as  comfortable  as  circumstances  per- 
mitted, the  greatest  desideratum  being  private  bath- 
rooms. While  rambling  about  the  town  after  sup- 
per 1  fell  into  conversation  with  a  druggist  and  I 
unwittingly  touched  a  sore  spot — which  we  learned 
was  common  to  every  citizen  of  Lakeport — when 

284 


A  LAKE   COUNTY   B\'WAY 
From    Photograph    by    Pillsbury 


TO  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  LAKE  VALLEY 

I  remarked  that  it  was  strange  that  a  town  of  its 
size,  so  favorably  situated,  should  be  without  a 
railroad. 

"It's  a  burning  shame,"  he  exclaimed,  "and 
we  have  the  Southern  Pacific  to  thank  for  it.  We 
have  made  every  effort  to  secure  a  railway  here  and 
in  this  fertile  valley  it  would  surely  pay.  Besides, 
the  lake,  with  its  fine  fishing  and  beautiful  sur- 
roundings, would  soon  become  one  of  the  most 
noted  resorts  in  California — if  people  could  only 
get  here.  But  for  some  reason  the  Southern  Pacific 
has  not  only  refused  to  build,  but  has  throttled  any 
effort  on  part  of  the  people  to  finance  a  road  into 
the  valley.  I  guess  the  railroad  people  figure  that 
as  it  is  they  get  all  the  traffic  and  the  people  have 
to  bear  the  heavy  expense  of  transportation  by 
wagon  to  the  main  line.  If  this  is  so,  it's  a  short- 
sighted policy,  for  the  development  of  the  country 
w^ould  be  so  rapid  that  the  branch  would  be  a  pay- 
ing proposition  from  the  start."  And  he  added 
much  more  in  the  same  strain,  all  of  it  highly  un- 
complimentary to  the  "Sunset  Route." 

I  was  not  familiar  enough  with  the  situation  to 
dispute  any  of  his  assertions,  even  had  1  been  so 
inclined,  and  let  him  assume  that  1  assented  to  all 
his  animadversions  against  the  Southern  Pacific. 
The  question  whether  or  not  Lakeport  and  Clear 
Lake  Valley  would  be  benefited  by  a  railroad — the 
nearest  station  is  Pieta,  twenty  miles  away — was 
clearly  too  one-sided  to  admit  of  discussion.  Be- 
sides, railroads  interest  us  only  in  an  academic  way. 
Who  would  want  a  railroad  to  visit  Clear  Lake 

Valley  if  he  were  free  to  come  by  motor  car? 

285 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

From  our  window  in  the  third  story  of  the 
hotel  we  could  see  the  lake  and  the  mountains  be- 
yond and  I  remarked  that  sunrise  would  surely 
be  a  spectacle  worth  seeing.  Though  some  doubt 
was  expressed  as  to  my  ability  to  rise  early  enough, 
I  managed  to  do  it  and  a  scene  of  surpassing  beauty 
rewarded  the  effort — it  really  was  an  effort  after 
the  strenuous  run  of  the  preceding  day.  A  rosy 
sky  brought  out  the  rugged  contour  of  the  hills  and 
tinged  the  dense  blue  shadows  with  amethyst  and 
gold.  As  the  sky  brightened,  the  lake  glowed  with 
the  changeful  fires  of  an  opal,  which  merged  into  a 
sheet  of  flame  when  the  sun  climbed  the  mountains 
and  flung  his  rays  directly  across  the  still  surface. 
There  was  an  indescribable  glory  of  color  and  light, 
passing  through  endless  mutations  ere  the  scene 
came  out  distinctly  in  the  daylight. 

We  were  away  early  in  the  morning  with  a 
long  run  over  many  mountain  grades  confronting 
us.  As  we  left  the  valley  we  had  a  better  oppor- 
tunity of  noting  its  singular  beauty  than  on  the 
preceding  evening.  It  is  a  wide  green  plain  of  sev- 
eral hundred  square  miles,  surrounded  by  mountain 
ranges.  These  presented  a  peculiar  contrast  in  the 
low  morning  sun,  standing  sharp  and  clear  against 
the  sky  on  the  eastern  side  and  half  hidden  in  a  soft 
blue  hcize  on  the  west.  In  the  center  of  the  plain 
lay  Clear  Lake — rightly  named,  for  it  is  a  crystal 
clear  body  of  water  about  thirty  miles  long  and 
eight  miles  in  extreme  width.  It  is  fed  by  mountain 
streams  and  empties  its  waters  into  the  Russian 
River.  For  boating  and  fishing  it  is  unsurpassed, 
a  catch  of  bass  or  cat  being  assured  under  almost 

286 


TO  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  LAKE  VALLEY 

any  conditions.     The  valley  was  studded  with  hun- 
dreds of  oaks,  the  finest  and  most  symmetrical  we 
had  seen  in  a  country  famous  for  magnificent  oaks, 
and  one  of  these,  near  the  Lakeport  road,  is  de- 
clared to  be  the  largest  and  most  perfect  oak  tree  in 
California.     Whether  it  is  so  or  not,  a  few  figures 
will  give  some  idea  of  its  mammoth  proportions. 
The  circumference  of  its  trunk  is  twenty-four  feet 
and  six  inches,  its  height  one  hundred  and  twenty 
feet,  and  the  spread  of  its  branches  one  hundred 
and  fifty-six  feet.    And  this  is  only  one  of  hundreds 
of  majestic  trees  which  dotted  the  plain.     Under- 
neath them — for  they  stand  usually  far  apart — lay 
the  wide  green  meadows  and  wheatfields,  spangled 
with  multi-colored  wild  flowers.     It  would  be  hard 
to    imagine    a    more  beautiful  vista  than  the  one 
which  stretched  away  beneath  these  giant  trees  to 
the  still  waters  of  the  lake.     Here  and  there  the 
orange  flame  of  poppies  prevailed  and  again  a  field 
of  buttercups  or  daisies,  or  a  blue  belt  of  lupine.  The 
sky  above  was  clear  save  for  a  few  silvery  clouds 
w^hich  floated  lazily  over  the  mountains,  and,  alto- 
gether, it  was  a  scene  of  quiet  beauty  that  made  us 
wonder  if  there  was  another  spot  in  all  the  world 
like  this  mountain  vale.     What  a  place  it  would  be 
for  a  resort  like  Del  Monte  or  Coronado!     If    in 
Southern  California  it  would  be  one  of  the  most 
noted  beauty  spots  on  earth.     A  railroad  would,  of 
course,  do  much  to  make  it  known  to  the  world  in 
general,  though  the  thought  of  a  railroad  in  that 
scene  of  quiet,  out-of-the-world  loveliness  seemed 
almost  like  sacrilege.     The  climate  is  mild — orange 
trees  and  palms  being  common — and  the  rainfall, 

287 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

averaging  about  thirty  inches,  is  twice  as  great  as 
in  the  southern  part  of  the  state.  This  accounts  for 
the  unusual  greenness  of  the  country  and  might  be 
an  unpleasant  feature  in  winter. 

Lakeport  marked  the  northern  end  of  our  tour 
and  we  resolved  to  cross  the  mountains  and  return 
by  the  Napa  Valley.  At  Kelseyville,  a  few  miles 
south  of  Lakeport,  we  inquired  of  a  garage  man  as 
to  the  best  road  out  of  the  valley  and  he  carefully 
directed  us  to  take  the  left-hand  fork  two  or  three 
miles  south  of  the  town. 

"It  takes  you  over  Bottle  Glass  Mountain,"  he 
said,  "but  it's  the  shortest  road  to  Middletown." 

When  we  came  to  the  fork  we  saw  that  the 
main  traveled  road  continued  to  the  right  and  a 
narrow,  forbidding-looking  lane  started  up  the  big 
hill  to  our  left.  We  took  it  with  some  misgiving; 
the  directions  had  been  explicit,  but  we  did  not  like 
its  looks.  When  we  had  proceeded  a  few  miles  on 
the  increasingly  heavy  grade  we  began  to  realize 
the  significance  of  the  name,  "Bottle  Glass  Moun- 
tain," for  the  road  had  been  blasted  through  masses 
of  obsidian  or  volcanic  glass  and  was  strewn  w^ith 
numberless  razor-sharp  fragments  which  speedily 
cut  our  tires  to  shreds.  There  was  absolutely  no 
place  to  turn  about  and  so  we  laboriously  toiled  up 
the  heavy  grades — some  of  them  surely  as  much  as 
twenty-five  per  cent — the  engine  steaming  like  a 
tea-kettle  until  at  last  we  reached  the  summit.  Here 
we  paused  to  cool  the  engine  and  investigate  the 
sorry  work  of  the  glass  which  had  strewn  the  road 
for  some  miles.  The  usefulness  of  a  new  set  of 
tires  was  clearly  at  its  end — no  one  of  them  lasted 

288 


TO  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  LAKE  VALLEY 

more  than  a  few  hundred  miles  after  this  experi- 
ence. We  carried  away  a  bit  of  the  glass  as  a 
memento  and  found  it  identical  with  that  of  Obsi- 
dian Cliff  in  the  Yellowstone,  a  material  used  by 
the  Indians  for  arrow  heads. 

The  descent  was  quite  free  from  glass  and  led 
us  down  some  pretty  steep  grades  into  a  beautifully 
wooded  canyon.  Here  we  met  a  mail  carrier  who 
gave  us  the  cheerful  information  that  two  or  three 
miles  farther  over  a  good  road  w^ould  have  avoided 
the  horrors  of  Bottle  Glass  Mountain.  For  several 
miles  we  followed  the  course  of  a  clear  stream,  the 
road  dropping  continuously  down  grade  and  wind- 
ing between  splendid  trees,  until  we  came  to  the 
little  village  of  Middletown. 

Beyond  this  we  began  the  ascent  of  Mount  St. 
Helena,  famed  in  Stevenson's  stories  of  the  "Silver- 
ado Squatters."     Of  it  he  w^rote, 

"There  was  something  satisfactory  in  the  sight 
of  the  great  mountain  enclosing  us  on  the  north; 
whether  it  stood  robed  in  sunshine,  quaking  to  its 
topmost  pinnacle  in  the  heat  and  lightness  of  the 
day  or  whether  it  set  itself  to  weaving  vapors,  wisp 
after  wisp,  growing,  trembling,  fleeting,  and  fading 
in  the  blue." 

It  overtops  everything  else  in  the  vicinity;  its 
great  bold  summit,  rising  to  a  height  of  forty-five 
hundred  feet,  is  a  cairn  of  quartz  and  cinnabar.  Its 
slopes,  now^  so  quiet  and  sylvan,  were  alive  in  an 
early  day  with  mining  camps  and  villages.  But 
the  mines  failed  long  ago  and  the  army  of  miners 
departed,  leaving  deserted  towns  and  empty  houses 

behind  them.    These  fell  into  decay  and  their  debris 

289 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

has  been  hidden  by  the  rank  growth  of  young  trees. 
On  St.  Helena,  Stevenson  and  his  wife  spent  some 
time  in  a  deserted  mining  camp  in  the  summer  of 
1  880  in  hopes  of  benefiting  his  health  and  while 
here  he  planned  and  partly  completed  the  story  of 
Silverado.  There  are  many  descriptions  of  the 
scenery  and  his  step-daughter  declares  that  the  pas- 
sage describing  the  morning  fog  rolling  into  the 
valley  as  seen  from  his  camp  is  one  of  the  very 
finest  in  all  of  Stevenson's  writings. 

Out  of  Middletown  the  road  begins  a  steady 
ascent  over  rolling  grades  ranging  up  to  fifteen  per 
cent  and  winding  through  the  splendid  forests 
which  so  charmed  the  Scotch  writer.  Redwoods, 
oaks,  firs,  cedars  and  magnificent  sugar  pines  crow^d 
up  to  the  roadside.  Star-white  dogwood  blossoms 
stand  against  the  foliage,  the  pale  lavender  spikes 
of  the  mountain  lilac,  the  giant  thistle  with  its  car- 
mine blooms,  the  crimson  gleam  of  the  redbud,  the 
brilliant  azalea,  and,  above  all,  the  madrona,  a 
great  tree  loaded  w^ith  clusters  of  odorous  pale  pink 
blossoms.  Its  red  trunk,  gleaming  beneath  its 
glistening  green  foliage  and  gay  flowers,  inspired 
the  oft-quoted  fancy  of  Bret  Harte: 

"Captain  of  the  western  wood, 
Thou  that  apest  Robin  Hood, 
Green  above  thy  scarlet  hose 
How  thy  velvet  mantle  shows. 
Never  tree  like  thee  arrayed, 
Oh,  thou  gallant  of  the  glade." 
From  the  highest  point  of  the  road — it  does 
not    cross    the    summit    of    the  mountain — was  a 
glorious  prospect  of  wooded  hills  and  a  long  vista 

290 


ON    THE    SLOPES    OP    MT.    ST.    HELENA 
Prom  Photograph  by  Harold  Taylor 


TO  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  LAKE  VALLEY 

down  the  canyon  which  we  followed  to  the  valley. 
The  descent  w^as  a  strenuous  one — winding  down- 
ward in  long  loops,  turning  sharply  around  blind 
corners,  and  running  underneath  mighty  cliffs, 
with  precipices  falling  away  beneath.  It  presented 
a  series  of  magnificent  views — a  new  one  at  almost 
every  turn — and  finally  we  came  out  into  the  open 
where  we  had  full  sweep  down  the  vine-clad  valley. 
At  its  head,  just  at  the  end  of  the  mountain  grade, 
w^as  Calistoga,  a  quiet  village  of  a  thousand  people, 
where  Stevenson  stopped  while  outfitting  for  his 
Silverado  expedition.  It  was  entirely  surrounded 
by  vineyards,  which  skirted  the  road  for  the  eight 
miles  to  St.  Helena  and  spread  out  over  the  narrow 
valley  to  the  green  hills  on  either  hand.  At  inter- 
vals wheatfields  studded  with  great  solitary  oaks 
varied  the  monotony  of  the  scene  and  here  and 
there  a  vineyard  dotted  the  steep  slopes  of  the  hills. 
Here,  as  well  as  in  the  valley  just  west  of  the 
St.  Helena  Range,  are  the  properties  of  the  Swiss- 
Italian  and  Asti  Colonies,  and  the  principal  winery, 
a  vast  stone  structure  that  reminds  one  of  a  Rhein- 
ish  castle,  is  situated  on  this  road.  Its  capacity  is 
three  million  gallons  annually  and  besides  its  stor- 
age vats  there  is  one  great  cement  cistern  w^hich 
holds  a  half  million  gallons.  In  this  capacious 
cavern  a  merrymaking  party  of  a  hundred  couples 
is  said  to  have  held  a  dance  on  one  occasion.  But 
Italian  methods  have  been  abandoned  in  these  big 
w^ineries — it  would  be  something  of  a  job  to  crush 
grapes  for  three  million  gallons  of  wine  with  the 
bare  feet,  the  implements  mostly  in  use  in  Italy. 
Instead,  there  is  a  mammoth  crusher  in  a  tower  of 

291 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

the  structure  and  the  grapes  are  dumped  upon  an 
endless  chain  that  hoists  them  to  this  machine, 
which  grinds  and  stems  them  at  a  single  operation. 
The  pulp  is  then  conducted  through  pipes  to  the 
fermenting  vats  below.  The  founder  of  the  Asti 
Colony  has  a  beautiful  home  in  the  hills,  modeled 
after  a  Pompeian  villa  and  surrounded  by  elaborate 
gardens  and  groves,  an  altogether  artistic  and 
charming  place,  it  is  said.  He  is  now  reckoned  as 
a  very  wealthy  man,  though  he  came  here  about 
thirty  years  ago  with  little  or  nothing. 

The  colony  has  its  own  general  store,  its 
smithy,  its  bakery,  its  dairy,  its  cooperage,  its 
schools  and  post  office,  and  a  quaint  little  w^ooden 
church — La  Madonna  del  Carmine — where  Italian 
services  are  conducted  on  Sundays.  While  the  Asti 
Colony  is  the  largest  and  most  distinctly  Italian, 
there  are  several  other  similar  communities  in  this 
section  and  also  in  the  San  Joaquin  Valley.  The 
greatest  danger  threatening  them  is,  no  doubt,  the 
growing  prohibition  sentiment  in  California.  We 
found  prohibition  already  in  force  in  Lake  County, 
though  there  are  many  vineyards  within  its  borders. 
To  our  request  for  a  bottle  of  Lake  County  wine  at 
one  of  the  small  inns,  our  landlord  declared  that  he 
could  not  sell,  but  obligingly  made  up  the  deficiency 
by  a  donation. 

All  of  the  foregoing — interesting  as  it  may  be 
— ^has  been  relegated  to  the  realm  of  ancient  history 
by  the  enactment  of  the  prohibition  amendment. 
The  results  so  far  as  the  grape  grow^ers  are  con- 
cerned, and  as  I  have  previously  noted  in  this  book, 
were  quite  the  opposite  of  those  expected.     Never 

292 


TO  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  LAKE  VALLEY 

was  the  industry  so  prosperous  and  never  before 
did  the  "fruit  of  the  vine"  bring  rich  returns  with 
so  little  labor.  It  is  only  necessary  to  dry  the 
grapes  in  the  sun  or  in  specially  constructed  kilns 
to  realize  twice  w^hat  they  w^ould  have  brought  in 
the  palmiest  days  of  the  abandoned  wineries. 

We  were  surprised  to  find  a  splendid  boulevard 
extending  for  many  miles  on  either  side  of  St. 
Helena;  it  emphasized  on  our  minds  a  fact  not 
generally  known,  that  in  the  vicinity  of  San  Fran- 
cisco there  is  almost  as  much  improved  road  as 
about  Los  Angeles.  Its  condition,  however,  does 
not  average  nearly  so  good,  and  a  large  part  of  it  is 
in  great  need  of  repairs.  The  work  has  been  done 
mainly  by  the  counties,  San  Joaquin  County  hav- 
ing just  completed  a  two-million-dollar  system  of 
boulevards. 

From  St.  Helena  w^e  continued  southward  to 
Napa,  a  town  of  seven  thousand  people  with  many 
fine  residences  and  a  substantial  business  center. 
From  Napa  the  road  runs  through  a  less  interesting 
country  to  Vallejo,  a  distance  of  fourteen  miles, 
where  w^e  thought  to  cross  by  ferry  to  Port  Costa. 
We  found,  however,  to  our  disgust,  that  these  boats 
w^ould  not  carry  cars  and  we  were  directed  to  pro- 
ceed to  Benicia,  seven  miles  farther  up  the  coast. 
Here  we  ran  on  to  a  large  railroad  ferry-boat,  which, 
after  a  tedious  delay,  carried  us  to  the  desired  point 
on  the  western  shore  of  the  Sacramento  River, 
which  here  is  really  an  arm  of  the  bay. 

Port  Costa  is  a  poor-looking  hamlet,  principal- 
ly inhabited  by  Mexicans,  several  of  whom  gathered 
about  us  to  watch  our  struggles  with  a  refractory 

293 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

tire.  Our  objective  for  the  night  was  Stockton, 
nearly  a  hundred  miles  away  by  the  roundabout 
route  which  we  must  pursue.  The  long  wait  at  the 
ferry  and  the  puncture — sure  to  occur  under  such 
conditions — put  us  behind  at  least  two  hours  and 
the  sun  w^as  already  declining.  We  recognized 
that  we  should  have  to  speed  up  a  little  and  prob- 
ably finish  after  dark.  Our  road  out  of  Port  Costa, 
however,  was  favorable  to  anything  but  speed; 
after  climbing  a  long  grade  we  came  out  on  the 
edge  of  the  hills  overlooking  the  river.  The  road 
runs  along  the  side  of  the  hills,  which  fall  away  for 
several  hundred  feet  almost  sheer  to  the  water  be- 
neath, and  it  twists  and  turns  around  the  cliffs  in 
a  manner  anything  but  soothing  to  nervous  people. 
It  affords,  however,  some  magnificent  views  of  the 
broad  estuary,  with  green  hills  and  distant  moun- 
tains beyond. 

From  Martinez,  another  decadent  little  town 
six  miles  from  Port  Costa,  w^e  proceeded  over 
fairly  good  roads  to  Concord  and  Antioch,  where 
we  turned  southward  into  the  wide  plain  of  the  San 
Joaquin  River.  It  was  necessary  to  make  a  long 
detour  around  the  San  Joaquin  Delta,  which  has  no 
roads.  The  highway  angles  towards  Byron  Hot 
Springs  in  long  straight  stretches.  It  was  improved 
as  a  general  thing,  though  we  met  w^ith  rough  spots 
and  sandy  places  occasionally.  We  struck  one  of 
the  latter  unexpectedly  while  bowling  along  at  a 
forty-mile  gait  and  gave  a  farmer  who  was  coming 
towards  us  in  a  cart  the  scare  of  his  life,  for  the  car 
became  unmanageable  in  the  sand  and  started 
straight  for  him.     Visions  of  impending  disaster 

294 


TO  BEAUTIFUL  CLEAR  LAKE  VALLEY 

flashed  through  our  minds  as  well,  when  the  ob- 
streperous machine  took  a  tack  in  the  opposite  di- 
rection. We  did  not  stop  to  discuss  the  occurrence 
with  him,  seeing  plainly  that  he  was  in  no  mood  for 
a  calm  consideration  of  the  matter — but  we  had 
learned  something. 

A  little  beyond  Byron  Hot  Springs  we  entered 
San  Joaquin  County  and  from  this  point  we  fol- 
lowed a  splendid  new  boulevard  as  smooth  and 
level  as  a  floor — part  of  the  county's  new  two-mil- 
lion road  system.  We  coursed  through  the  center 
of  a  wide  plain,  shut  in  by  ill-defined  mountains, 
and  one  of  these,  standing  in  solitary  majesty 
against  the  evening  sky,  seemed  to  dominate  the 
valley.  It  is  Mount  Diabolus,  w^hich  no  doubt  re- 
ceived its  appellation  from  some  ancient  padre  who 
thought  it  safest  to  give  his  Satanic  Majesty  a  habi- 
tation on  this  lonely  peak,  then  so  remote  from  the 
haunts  of  the  white  men. 


295 


XIV 
THE  NETHERLANDS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Stockton  has  a  population  of  over  forty 
thousand  according  to  the  1  920  census — a  gain  of 
nearly  one  hundred  per  cent  in  ten  years.  You 
would  be  likely  to  guess  even  a  larger  figure  vv^hen 
you  note  the  metropolitan  appearance  of  the  town 
— the  broad,  well-paved  streets,  the  handsome 
stores,  and  the  imposing  public  buildings — or  when 
you  enter  Hotel  Stockton,  a  huge,  modern,  con- 
crete structure  that  it  would  be  hard  to  match  in 
most  eastern  cities  of  a  hundred  thousand.  The 
town  is  situated  at  the  gateway  of  a  vast,  fertile 
plain,  rich  in  grainfields,  orchards,  vineyards,  and 
garden  and  dairy  products.  It  is  a  sightly  city,  w^ith 
eleven  public  parks  and  numerous  fine  homes  and 
churches;  many  streets  are  bordered  with  shade 
trees,  the  elm,  maple,  acacia,  and  umbrella  tree  be- 
ing most  common.  Orange  trees  and  palms  are 
also  plentiful,  reminding  one  that  a  mild  winter 
climate  prevails  in  the  valley. 

The  town  was  incorporated  in  1 850  and  was 
named  in  honor  of  Commodore  Stockton  of  the 
United  States  Navy,  who  raised  the  first  American 
flag  in  California.  It  had  previously  existed  as  a 
mining  supply  camp  and  the  site  belonged  to  Cap- 
tain Weber,  who  received  it  as  a  grant  from  the 
Mexican  Government  in  I  843.  It  has  been  a  quiet, 
steadily  growing  commercial  center  and  its  history 

296 


THE  NETHERLANDS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

has  never  been  greatly  varied  by  sensational  inci- 
dents. Its  first  railroad  came  in  1  869,  its  commerce 
having  been  carried  previously  on  the  San  Joaquin 
River.  Today  a  canal  connects  the  river  with  the 
heart  of  the  city  and  good-sized  steamers  arrive  and 
depart  daily.  It  is  also  served  by  main  lines  of 
three  great  transcontinental  railways,  an  advantage 
not  enjoyed  by  many  California  towns. 

Stockton  is  seldom  the  goal  of  the  tourist  and 
most  travelers  get  their  impressions  of  the  town 
from  a  car  window  while  enroute  to  or  from  San 
Francisco.  Not  one  in  a  thousand  of  these,  nor  one 
in  ten  thousand  who  only  hear  of  the  town,  knows 
that  in  its  immediate  vicinity,  almost  adjoining  its 
borders,  is  the  greatest  and  most  remarkable  enter- 
prise of  the  kind  in  America.  I  refer  to  the  land 
reclamation  projects  of  the  San  Joaquin  Delta, 
comprising  the  marvelously  fertile  tracts  already 
under  cultivation,  and  the  efficient  methods  em- 
ployed to  ultimately  reclaim  a  million  acres  of  peat 
swamps  still  untilled.  Thirty  years  ago  this  land 
was  supposed  to  be  absolutely  worthless — a  vast 
tract  of  upwards  of  a  million  and  a  half  acres, 
covered  with  scrub  willows  and  "tule" — a  species 
of  rank  reed — and  overflowed  at  times  to  a  depth  of 
several  feet  by  flood  and  ocean  tides.  The  soil  in 
the  main  is  black  peat,  made  up  of  decomposed  tule 
and  sand  washed  in  by  the  floods — a  composition 
of  untold  fertility  if  properly  drained  and  farmed. 

I  was  especially  interested  in  this  enterprise 

since  a  pioneer  in  reclamation  work  and  president 

of  one  of  the  largest  concerns  operating  in  the  delta 

was  an  old-time  college-mate  who   came   to   Cali- 

297 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

fornia  some  twenty-five  years  ago.  He  had  little 
then  save  indomitable  energy  and  unusual  business 
aptitude,  and  with  characteristic  foresight  he  recog- 
nized the  possibilities  of  the  San  Joaquin  swamps 
when  once  reclaimed  and  properly  tilled.  He  suc- 
ceeded in  interesting  capitalists  in  the  project, 
which  has  steadily  grown  until  it  has  merged  into 
the  California  Delta  Farms  Association,  a  ten-mil- 
lion-dollar corporation  which  owns  and  controls 
more  than  forty  thousand  acres,  mostly  under  culti- 
vation. The  company  also  owns  a  fleet  of  a  dozen 
great  steam  dredging  plants,  principally  engaged 
in  reclaiming  new  tracts  on  their  own  properties, 
though  occasionally  doing  work  for  other  concerns. 

Besides  the  Delta  Farms  Association,  there  are 
several  other  large  companies  and  individual  own- 
ers operating  in  the  delta,  which  now  has  upwards 
of  three  hundred  thousand  reclaimed  acres,  and  it 
is  said  that  a  million  more  will  be  brought  under 
cultivation  within  five  or  six  years.  The  aggregate 
value  of  the  land  at  that  time  will  not  be  less  than 
two  hundred  millions,  figures  which  speak  most 
eloquently  of  the  almost  inconceivable  possibilities 
of  the  Netherlands  of  California,  and  any  tourist 
whose  convenience  will  permit  w^ill  find  himself 
well  repaid  should  he  stop  at  Stockton  for  the 
especial  purpose  of  seeing  this  unique  w^onder  of 
America. 

We  found  no  difficulty  in  arranging  for  a  good- 
sized  motor-boat  capable  of  twelve  to  fifteen  miles 
per  hour,  in  charge  of  a  man  familiar  with  every 
part  of  the  delta  and  well  posted  upon  the  details  of 
farming  and  reclamation  work.     The  harbor  is  at 

298 


THE  NETHERLANDS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

the  foot  of  Washington  Street,  well  within  the  con- 
fines of  the  city  and  a  canal  about  two  miles  long 
connects  with  the  main  channel  of  the  San  Joaquin. 
There  are  no  roads  in  the  delta,  the  river  and  canals 
serving  as  highways;  each  tract  in  cultivation  is 
surrounded  by  water  held  back  by  a  substantial 
levee  usually  about  twenty-five  feet  high  and  one 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  thick  at  the  base.  The  tracts 
range  from  one  thousand  to  thirteen  thousand  acres 
in  size  and  are  usually  spoken  of  as  islands.  It  is 
hard  for  a  novice  to  get  a  clear  idea  of  the  lay  of  the 
land — the  waterways  twist  and  turn  and  interweave 
in  such  a  baffling  manner.  Nor  can  one  see  over 
the  high  levees  from  an  ordinary  launch;  the  top 
of  the  pilot  house  on  our  boat,  however,  afforded 
views  of  most  of  the  tracts.  The  main  stream  is 
several  hundred  feet  wide  and  the  canals  average 
about  twenty-four  feet,  with  a  depth  of  ten  to 
fifteen  feet. 

The  first  step  towards  reclaiming  a  tract  of 
land  is  to  surround  it  by  a  large  levee  or  bank  of 
soil  scooped  from  the  sw^amp  by  great  floating 
dredges,  the  resulting  depression  serving  as  a  canal. 
When  the  levee  is  completed,  the  island  is  cleared 
of  tule  and  brush  and  the  water  pumped  out.  It  is 
then  ready  for  cultivation,  but  breaking  up  the 
tough,  fibrous  peat  is  laborious  and  tedious  work, 
which  the  average  w^hite  man  seems  unw^illing  to 
do,  and  Oriental  labor  has  played  a  big  part  in  re- 
claiming the  delta. 

Should  the  peat  become  too  dry,  it  is  liable  to 

take  fire  and  smoulder  indefinitely,  though  this  can 

be  controlled  by  flooding  from  the  river.    Its  fibrous 

299 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

composition  makes  it  an  excellent  material  for 
levees;  when  thoroughly  packed  it  is  quite  imper- 
vious to  w^ater  and  little  affected  by  floods. 

Our  guide  informed  us  that  the  actual  cost  of 
reclaiming  the  land  averages  about  one  hundred 
and  sixteen  dollars  per  acre  and  that  its  value  when 
in  cultivation  is  from  two  to  three  hundred  dollars. 
Irrigation,  when  necessary,  is  accomplished  by 
elevating  water  from  river  or  canal  at  high  tide  over 
the  levee  by  means  of  huge  siphons.  The  tide  rises 
three  or  four  feet,  though  salt  water  does  not  come 
in  so  far.  Thus  the  water  supply  is  never  failing 
and  a  crop  is  always  assured.  Disastrous  floods  are 
now  so  guarded  against  as  to  be  of  rare  occurrence, 
though  in  earlier  times  they  frequently  wrought 
great  havoc;  even  then  they  were  not  an  unmixed 
evil,  a  layer  of  rich  fertilizer  being  deposited  in  their 
wake. 

It  is  not  strange  that  the  ow^ners  of  the  San 
Joaquin  Delta  lands  are  opposed  to  the  anti-Japan- 
ese legislation  now  the  fashion  in  California.  The 
work  of  reclamation  has  been  done  mostly  by  Ori- 
entals— Japanese,  Chinese,  and  a  few  Hindus — 
and  farming  operations  are  largely  carried  on  by 
laborers  of  these  nationalities.  In  the  earlier  days 
white  men  suffered  severely  from  ague  and  malaria, 
though  conditions  in  this  regard  are  better  now. 
The  Jap  seems  perfectly  at  home  in  the  San  Joaquin 
swamps ;  hot  sun  and  drudgery  have  no  serious  ef- 
fect on  him  and  he  has  the  industry  and  infinite 
patience  necessary  to  succeed  under  such  condi- 
tions. He  requires  less  supervision  than  the  white 
laborer  and  in  this  regard  the  Chinaman  is  still  bet- 

300 


THE  NETHERLANDS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

ter.  Altogether,  the  Oriental  is  the  ideal  laborer 
for  the  delta;  and  he  is  at  his  best  when  employed 
by  a  fellow-countryman. 

This  fact  partially  accounts  for  the  phenome- 
nal success  of  George  Shima,  who  is  probably  the 
most  extensive  farmer  in  the  whole  region.  He  not 
only  owns  considerable  land,  but  leases  great  tracts 
which  he  farms  in  a  thorough  and  scientific  manner. 
His  problem  is  not  to  secure  a  big  yield — he  is  sure 
of  that — but  to  get  a  favorable  market.  The  flood 
danger,  which  wiped  out  his  possessions  in  1907, 
is  said  to  be  well  guarded  against  now,  but  the 
danger  of  a  glutted  market  remains.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  is  the  gamble  of  a  shortage  of  potatoes 
in  the  rest  of  the  world — a  thing  which  happened 
in  1910,  when  Shima  is  said  to  have  cleared  over 
half  a  million  dollars  on  this  crop  alone.  The  wily 
Jap  held  his  crop  until  the  demand  was  keenest  and 
let  it  go  at  two  or  three  dollars  per  hundredweight. 
He  has  learned  to  depend  on  other  products  besides 
potatoes,  both  to  avoid  danger  of  a  glut  and  to  pro- 
vide for  proper  rotation  of  crops.  Rich  as  is  the 
delta  soil,  several  successive  crops  of  potatoes  will 
impoverish  it.  Alternating  with  barley,  beans, 
asparagus,  alfalfa,  or  onions,  all  of  which  thrive  in 
an  incredible  manner,  serves  to  stave  off  the  evil 
day  of  soil  exhaustion.  It  is  Shima's  boast  that  he 
farms  scientifically  and  employs  experts  on  soil 
chemistry,  and  the  results  he  gets  seem  to  bear  out 
his  claim.  He  lives  on  a  fashionable  street  in 
Berkeley  and  has  done  much  to  overcome  prejudice 
against  his  nationality  by  intelligent  and  liberal  do- 
nations to  public  and  charitable  causes. 

301 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

Besides  Shima  there  are  several  smaller  Japan- 
ese operators  and  two  or  three  Chinamen  who  lease 
land  on  a  large  scale.  Shima  markets  as  well  as 
raises  his  product,  but  the  others  sell  mainly 
through  brokers  and  commission  men.  There  are 
several  white  ranchers  who  farm  their  own  land  and 
who  have  demonstrated  that  success  can  be 
achieved  in  this  way.  The  millennium  of  the  delta 
is  expected  to  be  attained  by  wholesale  subdivision 
into  farms  of  one  hundred  acres  or  more,  operated 
by  the  owners.  Indeed,  the  Delta  Farms  Company 
is  already  planning  to  dispose  of  a  part  of  its  hold- 
ings in  this  manner  and  there  is  certain  prosperity 
for  the  farmer  who  buys  a  small  tract  and  tills  it 
himself.  A  good  yield  is  always  sure  and  by  proper 
rotation  and  division  of  crops  a  market  for  the  ma- 
jority of  products  is  equally  certain.  It  has  also 
been  proved  that  hog-raising  and  dairying  can  be 
profitably  engaged  in.  The  time  will  come,  say 
many,  when  this  Holland  of  America  will  support 
a  large  population  of  thrifty  American  farmers  and 
the  bugaboo  of  Oriental  labor  will  have  faded  away. 
Schools,  roads,  and  bridges  w^ill  come,  and  there  is 
already  a  daily  mail  delivery  by  water  and  an  elab- 
orate telephone  system  in  the  delta.  The  splendid 
system  of  water  highways  upon  which  every  farm 
will  front,  will  afford  quick  and  cheap  access  to 
markets.  Every  farmer  will  have  his  motor-boat 
instead  of  automobile,  and  this  will  put  him  in  easy 
touch  with  towns,  cities,  and  schools.  This  ideal 
state  is  still  in  the  indefinite  future ;  most  of  the  land 
is  held  by  absentee  landlords  who  are  more  than 

satisfied  with  the  returns  from  the  present  system 

302 


THE  NETHERLANDS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

and  whose  holdings  are  not  for  sale.  The  reclama- 
tion of  new  tracts  and  the  increasing  scarcity  of 
Japanese  and  Chinese  labor  may,  however,  change 
conditions  more  rapidly  than  now  seems  probable. 
Our  skipper  landed  us  at  several  of  the  islands 
and  it  gave  us  a  queer  sensation  to  walk  over 
ground  that  quaked  and  quivered  to  our  step  as 
though  it  rested  on  a  subterranean  lake.  The  im- 
provements w^ere  generally  of  the  flimsiest  type — 
clapboard  houses  resting  on  piles  afforded  quarters 
for  the  laborers.  Near  the  superintendent's  home 
on  one  of  the  tracts  was  a  field  of  carmine  sweet 
peas  in  full  bloom — a  pleasing  patch  of  color  upon 
the  general  drab  monotone  of  the  landscape,  sug- 
gesting the  possibility  of  flow^er-farming  on  a  large 
scale.  The  quarters  for  the  help  make  it  clear  why 
Chinamen  and  Japanese  can  be  so  profitably  em- 
ployed— they  demand  little  in  the  w^ay  of  comforts 
and  are  satisfied  with  the  cheapest  and  plainest  fare. 
Wages,  even  of  this  class  of  labor,  are  not  low,  the 
average  Oriental  earning  forty  to  sixty  dollars  per 
month  besides  his  keep.  Chinese  and  Japanese  do 
not  readily  affiliate  and  men  in  adjoining  camps 
may  scarcely  speak  to  each  other  during  the  entire 
w^orking  season.  A  good  many  Chinese  live  in 
house  boats  on  the  river  and  we  saw  the  curious 
sight  of  a  house-boat  saloon,  for  the  difficulty  in 
getting  in  a  supply  of  opium  has  driven  the  China- 
man to  the  w^hite  man's  tipples  and  he  has  learned 
to  carry  a  comfortable  load  of  gin  w^ithout  losing 
his  head.  There  were  also  camps  of  Chinese  fisher- 
men who  take  quantities  of  bass,  shad,  and  catfish, 
which  we  were  told  were  shipped  to  China.     The 

303 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

smells  from  these  camps  frequently  announced 
their  proximity  before  we  came  in  sight  of  them. 

Asparagus  is  one  of  the  large  and  profitable 
crops  and  on  our  return  trip  we  saw  a  thousand- 
acre  tract  of  this  staple  and  a  big  factory  which 
turns  out  many  hundreds  of  carloads  of  the  canned 
article.  The  Delta  brand  is  famous  as  the  largest, 
tenderest,  and  best-flavored  variety  known.  Celery 
is  also  raised  in  large  quantities  and  here  is  the  only 
spot  in  the  west  where  chicory  thrives. 

During  our  round,  which  covered  eighty  miles 
of  river  and  canal,  we  had  the  opportunity  of  ob- 
serving reclamation  in  progress,  as  well  as  many 
phases  of  farming.  The  huge  steel  dredges  were 
slowly  eating  their  way  through  the  waste  of  reeds 
and  willows,  their  long  black  arms  delving  deep 
into  the  muck  and  piling  levees  alongside  the  canal, 
which  served  as  a  pathway  for  the  monster's  ad- 
vance. A  little  farther  we  saw  a  tract  around 
which  the  levee  had  been  completed  and  which  w^as 
being  cleared  of  tule  and  brushwood,  fire  being 
freely  used,  as  the  peat  was  still  too  wet  to  burn. 
Beyond  this  a  field  was  being  brought  under  the 
plough  and  desperately  hard,  heavy  work  it  was, 
breaking  up  the  matted  fibrous  soil  that  had  been 
forming  for  ages.  In  another  place  a  break  in  the 
levee  had  permitted  an  inflow  of  w^ater  and  this  was 
being  thrown  out  with  a  mighty  floating  pump 
capable  of  handling  some  seventy  thousand  gallons 
per  minute.  Farming  operations  require  a  fleet  of 
barges,  for  horses  and  heavy  farm  machinery  must 
be  carried  and  the  products  transported  from  the 
markets. 

304 


THE  NETHERLANDS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Altogether,  the  San  Joaquin  Delta  was  very 
interesting  and  surprising;  well  worth  seeing  aside 
from  the  personal  element,  which  w^as  the  prime 
motive  in  our  case.  It  is  only  because  this  wonder- 
ful region  is  so  little  known  that  visitors  are  com- 
paratively few^,  but  the  tourist  tide  will  surely  come 
before  long  and  many  will  find  profitable  invest- 
ments in  the  lands.  Of  course  the  ordinary  tourist 
will  be  able  to  see  only  a  small  section  of  this  vast 
tract  until  the  age  of  airship  touring  comes,  but 
that  small  section  w^ill  be  so  typical  as  to  afford  a 
fair  idea  of  the  whole.  The  story  of  the  delta  makes 
a  unique  chapter  in  American  agriculture  and  it  is 
bound  to  prove  a  fertile  field  for  research  and  ex- 
periment, which  w^ill  result  in  still  greater  produc- 
tion and  a  wider  variety  of  crops.  Its  vast  extent 
and  endless  resources  make  it  a  notable  asset,  even 
in  a  state  so  famed  for  big  things  as  California,  and 
some  day  it  may  be  comparable  in  population  and 
thrift  to  the  Dutch  Netherlands. 

It  was  late  when  our  skipper  turned  the  launch 
homeward  and  there  was  something  exhilarating 
and  inspiring  in  swirling  through  the  long  sunset 
stretches  of  still  water  between  the  high  green 
banks.  We  agreed  that  the  boat  ride  alone  as  a 
variation  from  weeks  of  dusty  motor  travel  would 
have  been  worth  while,  even  if  we  had  not  seen 
and  learned  so  much  of  the  w^onderland  of  the  San 
Joaquin  Delta. 

On  our  second  visit  to  Stockton  a  year  later 
we  passed  through  without  delay  on  our  way  to  the 
state  capital.  We  came  from  Oakland — where  we 
passed  the  night  at  the  magnificent  new  Hotel  Oak- 

305 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

land,  unsurpassed  by  any  of  California's  famous 
hotels — by  the  way  of  Haywards,  Niles,  Pleasan- 
ton,  and  Altamont.  The  direct  road  by  way  of 
Dublin  was  closed  and  we  w^ere  saved  a  useless 
twenty-mile  jaunt  by  an  obliging  garage  man  at 
Haywards,  who  hailed  us  as  he  saw  us  turning  into 
the  obstructed  route. 

"You'll  have  to  take  a  round-about  road,"  he 
declared  on  learning  of  our  destination.  "A  car 
which  tried  the  Dublin  road  just  returned,  having 
found  it  completely  closed.  The  county  board  is 
cutting  down  the  big  hill  near  Dublin — commenced 
a  year  ago  and  was  held  up  by  a  lawsuit.  They  had 
to  condemn  a  piece  of  land — so  steep  a  goat 
couldn't  stand  on  it — for  which  an  Eastern  owner 
wanted  seven  thousand  dollars.  The  jury  awarded 
the  owner  seventeen  dollars,  and  now  the  work  can 
go  on." 

"Our  Eastern  friend  must  have  thought  he  saw 
a  chance  to  get  rich  quick,"  we  ventured. 

"No,  the  funny  part  of  it  was  that  he  wanted 
just  what  he  paid  for  the  land,  which  he  had  never 
seen.  Some  real  estate  agent  had  sold  it  to  him  for 
seven  thousand  dollars  and  he  only  wanted  his 
money  back.  I  reckon  that  any  man  who  buys  land 
in  California  on  someone's  representations  is  a 
sucker," — a  proposition  that  we  did  not  feel  called 
upon  to  dispute. 

We  had  no  reason  to  regret  our  enforced 
change  of  route,  for  we  passed  through  some  beau- 
tiful country — quite  different  from  what  we  had 
previously  seen  in  this  vicinity.  Following  the  rail- 
road southward  to  Niles,  we  turned  sharply  to  the 

306 


THE  NETHERLANDS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

left,  entering  the  low  green  hills  along  which  we 
had  been  coursing.  Crossing  a  moderate  grade, 
we  came  into  a  narrow  valley  lying  between 
rounded  hills,  which  showed  evidence  of  having 
been  in  cultivation  for  many  years.  The  roads, 
bridges,  farm  houses,  and  other  improvements  in- 
dicated a  prosperous  and  well-established  commun- 
ity and  the  towns  of  Pleasanton,  Livermore,  and 
Altamont  must  have  sprung  into  existence  as  far 
back  as  the  "days  of  gold."  These  were  quiet, 
pretty  villages  connected  by  a  fine  macadam  road, 
evidently  a  temptation  to  the  "scorcher,"  for  pla- 
cards in  the  garages  warned  motorists  against  the 
despised  motorcycle  "cop." 

It  was  a  glorious  day  and  the  well-groomed 
valley  showed  a  wonderful  display  of  color,  the  pre- 
vailing green  being  dashed  with  the  brilliant  hues 
of  wild  flowers.  The  low  hills  on  either  hand  were 
covered  with  lawnlike  verdure  and  dotted  with  an- 
cient oaks,  while  an  occasional  cultivated  field  re- 
deemed them  from  monotony.  Beyond  Livermore 
we  came  into  the  San  Joaquin  Valley,  which  at 
this  time  was  reveling  in  the  promise  of  an  un- 
precedented harvest.  The  wide  level  plain  was  an 
expanse  of  waving  green  varied  with  an  occasional 
fringe  of  trees,  and  a  low-lying,  dark-blue  haze 
quite  obscured  the  distant  mountains. 

Beyond  Stockton  the  characteristics  of  the 
country  were  much  the  same,  though  it  seemed  to 
us  as  if  the  valley  of  the  Sacramento  were  even 
greener  and  more  prosperous.  The  vast  wheat- 
fields  were  showing  the  slightest  tinge  of  yellow 

and  the  great  vineyards  were  in  bloom.     Some  of 

307 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

the  latter  covered  hundreds  of  acres  and  must  have 
been  planted  many  years  ago.  The  luxuriant, 
flower-spangled  meadows  w^ere  dotted  with  herds 
of  sleek  cattle  and  it  would  be  hard  to  imagine  a 
more  ideal  agricultural  paradise  than  the  Sacra- 
mento Valley  at  this  particular  time.  On  either 
hand  the  rich  plain  stretched  away  to  blue  moun- 
tains, so  distant  that  only  their  dim  outlines  w^ere 
discernible,  and  at  times  they  were  entirely  ob- 
scured by  low-hung  clouds  or  sudden  summer 
showers. 

The  road  between  the  two  cities  is  a  recently 
completed  link  of  the  state  highway  and  the  smooth 
asphalted  surface  offers  unlimited  speed  possibili- 
ties if  one  cares  to  take  the  chances.  In  the  spring 
and  early  summer  Sacramento  is  surrounded  by 
vast  swamps  and  we  crossed  over  a  long  stretch 
of  wooden  bridges  before  entering  the  city.  Our 
original  plan  was  to  come  from  Napa,  but  we 
learned  that  the  roads  north  and  west  of  the  city 
were  usually  impassable  until  late  in  the  summer. 
The  entire  city  lies  below  high-water  level  of  the 
Sacramento  and  American  Rivers  and  in  its  early 
days  suffered  from  disastrous  floods.  It  is  now  pro- 
tected by  an  extensive  system  of  dikes,  which  have 
successfully  withstood  the  freshets  for  half  a  cen- 
tury. 

A  handsome  city  greeted  us  as  w^e  coursed 
down  the  wide  shady  street  leading  past  the  capitol 
to  the  Hotel  Sacramento.  Palms  and  flowers  were 
much  in  evidence  in  the  outskirts  and  many  impos- 
ing modern  buildings  ornamented  the  business  sec- 
tion.    There  were,  however,  many  indications  of 

308 


THE  NETHERLANDS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

the  city's  age,  for  Sacramento  is  the  oldest  settle- 
ment of  white  men  in  the  interior  of  California  and 
was  a  town  of  ten  thousand  people  in  1  849,  though 
probably  there  were  many  transient  gold-seekers 
among  them.  It  was  the  objective  of  the  early 
"Argonauts"  who  crossed  the  plains  long  before  the 
discovery  of  gold.  Here  in  I  839  Colonel  John  H. 
Sutter  established  a  colony  of  Swiss  settlers  w^hich 
he  called  New  Helvetia,  and  the  old  adobe  fort 
w^hich  he  built  still  stands,  having  being  converted 
into  a  museum  of  pioneer  relics.  Sutter  employed 
Marshall,  who  was  sent  into  the  mountains  to  build 
a  mill  at  Coloma,  and  who  picked  up  in  the  mill 
race  the  original  nugget  that  turned  the  tide  towards 
California  in  the  forties.  The  first  railroad  in  the 
state  ran  from  Sacramento  to  Folsom,  and  the  ex- 
perimental section  of  the  state  highway  system  was 
built  betw^een  these  two  tow^ns. 

There  w^ere  many  productive  gold  mines  about 
the  town  in  an  early  day,  and  though  these  are 
largely  worked  out,  Sacramento  has  to-day  a  greater 
and  more  permanent  source  of  w^ealth  in  the  rich 
country  surrounding  it.  It  was  made  the  capital 
of  the  state  in  1854  and  the  handsome  capitol 
building  was  erected  a  few  years  later.  This  is  of 
pure  classic  design  in  white  stone  and  though  small 
as  compared  with  most  other  state  capitols,  it  is 
surpassed  architecturally  by  none  of  them.  It 
stands  in  a  forty-acre  park  intersected  by  winding 
drives  and  beautified  with  the  semi-tropical  trees 
and  plants  which  flourish  in  this  almost  frostless 
climate.  Among  these  is  the  Memorial  Grove,  com- 
posed of  trees  collected  from  the  battlefields  of  the 

309 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

Civil  War.  The  state  insectary,  which  breeds  and 
distributes  millions  of  fruit-protecting  insects  every 
year,  may  also  be  seen  on  the  capitol  grounds. 

Our  hotel,  the  Sacramento,  a  modern  concrete 
structure,  proved  fairly  satisfactory,  but  so  far  as 
we  could  judge,  the  hotels  of  Sacramento  were 
hardly  up  to  the  California  standard  for  a  city  of 
sixty  thousand.  The  city  is  visited  by  compara- 
tively few  tourists  at  present,  though  the  motor  car 
and  the  new  state  highway  are  likely  to  change 
things  in  this  regard.  The  fine  old  town  has  much 
of  real  interest  and  the  run  through  the  prosperous 
valley  is  an  experience  wrorth  while  to  any  one 
who  wishes  to  know  the  beauties  and  resources  of 
the  Golden  State. 


310 


XV 

A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

Before  beginning  our  homeward  trek  to  Los 
Angeles,  we  decided  to  return  to  San  Francisco  and 
once  there  it  occurred  to  us  that  we  must  visit  old 
Fort  Ross  to  familiarize  ourselves  with  another 
colorful  chapter  of  Golden  State  history.  This  tiny 
hamlet  is  on  the  sea  coast  about  one  hundred  miles 
(by  wagon  road)  north  of  the  metropolis  and  may 
be  reached  by  either  of  two  routes,  so  we  deter- 
mined to  go  by  one  and  return  by  the  other.  The 
briefest  possible  outlines  of  the  story  of  Fort  Ross 
may  serve  to  illustrate  the  motives  of  our  "little 
journey"  into  the  northern  hills: 

The  settlement  was  founded  in  1 8 1 2  by  Rus- 
sian traders.  The  fact  that  it  was  a  military  post 
whose  crude  fortifications  were  defended  by  forty 
cannons  lends  color  to  the  supposition  that  the  Czar 
may  have  entertained  dreams  of  conquest  in  the 
weakly  defended  Spanish  territory  on  the  Pacific 
Coast.  The  Spaniards  themselves  thought  so,  for 
in  1818  the  Governor  at  Monterey  received  orders 
to  organize  an  expedition  to  capture  Fort  Ross — 
a  mandate  which  he  declared  he  was  unable  to  carry 
out  "for  lack  of  men,  transport  and  equipment." 
The  Russians  spread  from  Fort  Ross  into  the  sur- 
rounding territory  and  many  names  such  as  Sebas- 

topol.  Bodega,  Mt.  St.  Helena  and  Russian  River 

311 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

persist  to-day  as  reminders  of  the  Muscovite  occu- 
pation. 

Their  traders  came  from  time  to  time  and 
carried  on  more  or  less  traffic  with  the  Spaniards 
despite  their  deep  distrust  of  the  Czar's  intentions. 
There  were  many  romantic  incidents  with  this  inter- 
course. The  pathetic  story  of  Rezanov,  the  noble 
commander  of  the  Russian  fleet,  and  Donna  Con- 
cepcion,  daughter  of  the  Spanish  governor,  will 
always  survive  as  one  of  the  famous  romances  of 
early  California.  It  was  made  the  subject  of  Ger- 
trude Atherton's  novel  of  "Rezanov" — a  colorful 
picture  of  the  times,  a  story  really  savoring  more 
of  history  than  fiction.  The  Russian  colonies  never 
prospered  sufficiently  to  become  a  menace  even  to 
the  weak  dominion  of  Spain,  and  when  Mexico 
threw  off  the  yoke  of  the  mother  country,  Russia 
formally  pledged  herself  against  the  acquisition  of 
any  territory  in  California.  Seventeen  years  later 
the  settlement  had  so  declined  that  the  Russians 
were  glad  to  sell  their  property  to  Col.  John  A. 
Sutter,  founder  of  Sacramento,  and  to  retire  per- 
manently from  California. 

It  seemed  to  us  that  a  memorial  of  events  that 
might  have  changed  the  course  of  history  on  our 
Pacific  Coast  was  worthy  of  a  pilgrimage,  and  our 
knowledge  of  the  beauty  of  the  hills  of  Marin  and 
Sonoma  was  an  additional  lure.  And  so  we  crossed 
by  the  Sausalito  Ferry  and  were  soon  away  on  the 
fine  highway  to  Santa  Rosa — now  familiar  ground 
to  us.  It  was  late  in  May  and  by  all  the  weather 
man's  rules  the  rainy  season  was  past,  but  the  un- 
usual (as  usual  in  California)  happened;  a  sharp 

312 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

little  shower  caught  us  as  we  left  Sausalito  and  fit- 
fully followed  us  as  we  coursed  swiftly  over  the 
fine  road.  It  had  its  compensations,  how^ever,  in 
the  wonderful  effects  of  cloud  and  mist  on  the 
Marin  hills — a  perfect  symphony  of  blues,  grays 
and  purples.  At  Petaluma  we  recalled  that  the 
town  was  the  prototype  of  Rosewater  in  Mrs. 
Atherton's  "Ancestors'* — the  home  of  her  very 
unconventional  heroine  who,  naturally  enough, 
owned  a  poultry  ranch,  the  poultry  industry  being 
the  outstanding  occupation  of  the  inhabitants. 

The  rain  had  ceased  by  the  time  we  reached 
Santa  Rosa,  w^here  we  paused  for  lunch.  Here  w^e 
branched  from  the  main  highway,  coursing  through 
a  lovely  green  valley  to  Forestville,  where  w^e 
entered  the  wooded  hill  range.  We  covered  several 
miles  of  easy  mountain  road  before  reaching 
Guerneville,  winding  through  groves  of  red- 
wood and  many  other  varieties  of  conifers  and 
deciduous  trees.  At  Guerneville  we  dropped 
down  into  the  Russian  River  Valley,  famous 
as  a  summer  playground  for  San  Francisco. 
We  crossed  the  river  over  a  high,  spider-web 
bridge  which  afforded  a  vantage  point  for  ex- 
tensive views  up  and  dow^n  the  w^ooded  val- 
ley. The  emerald-green  river  lay  far  beneath  us 
in  deep,  still  reaches,  for  there  is  little  fall  to  the 
valley  here.  Beyond  the  river  we  began  the  ascent 
of  a  long,  winding  grade  over  the  second  range. 
The  road  climbed  through  a  dense  forest  and  there 
were  many  sharp  turns  and  steep  pitches,  some- 
what the  worse  for  the  lately  fallen  showers,  but 
the  magnificent  panoramas  that  occasionally  burst 

313 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

on  our  vision  as  we  continued  the  ascent  made  the 
effort  well  worth  while.  The  valley  was  diversified 
with  well-groomed  fruit  ranches  and  scattered  grain 
fields;  groups  of  oaks  with  velvety  glades  beneath, 
straggled  over  the  rounded  foothills,  all  combining 
to  make  a  scene  of  wonderful  sylvan  charm.  As 
we  approached  Cazadero  we  had  an  enchanting 
view  of  the  deep  valley  and  the  village  far  below. 
But  distance  lent  enchantment  to  the  view  of  Caza- 
dero, for  we  found  it  a  rather  mean-looking  little 
place — chiefly  a  station  for  the  motor  busses  that 
run  over  this  road,  its  principal  sign  of  life  being 
the  huge  repair  shops. 

Beyond  Cazadero  there  was  still  more  climb- 
ing through  the  "forest  primeval,"  whose  increas- 
ing greenness  and  luxuriance  called  forth  more  than 
one  exclamation  of  delight.  The  madrona,  horse- 
chestnut,  dogwood  and  locust  were  in  full  bloom 
and  huge  ferns  grew  riotously  everywhere  under- 
neath the  trees.  The  road  w^as  w^et  and  dangerous 
in  places,  making  our  progress  slow,  but  at  last  we 
came  out  on  the  clifflike  headland  above  Fort  Ross 
and  the  ocean,  silver-white  in  the  declining  sun, 
flashed  into  view.  Far  beneath,  directly  on  the 
shore,  we  could  see  the  little  hamlet,  the  object  of 
our  pilgrimage,  nestling  among  the  green  hillocks. 
A  very  steep,  narrow  road,  wet  from  the  recent 
rain,  plunged  down  the  almost  precipitous  bank 
and  we  narrowly  escaped  disastrous  collision  with 
a  tree  from  a  vicious  "skid"  in  the  descent,  which 
has  several  pitches  of  twenty-five  per  cent. 

We  found  only  a  scene  of  desolation  at  our 
goal;  there  were  two  or  three  families  living  in  the 

314 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

place,  but  most  of  the  houses  were  abandoned. 
The  huge,  windowless  hotel  covered  with  creepers, 
testified  mutely  to  the  one-time  importance  of  the 
town.  Relics  of  the  old  fort  or  blockhouse  were 
in  evidence,  but  only  two  fragments  of  the  walls, 
built  of  huge  squared  logs,  were  still  standing.  The 
quaint  little  church  had  just  been  restored — a  tiny 
whitewashed  structure  perhaps  twelve  by  fifteen 
feet,  with  an  odd  domelike  cupola  and  square  tower 
in  front.  It  had  been  rebuilt  at  public  expense  and 
the  fort  was  also  to  be  restored  from  the  same  legis- 
lative appropriation. 

There  was  nothing  to  detain  us  in  the  lonely 
village  and  after  a  mad  scramble  up  the  wet  slope, 
slipping  backward  dangerously  at  one  point,  we 
paused  again  on  the  headland  to  contemplate  the 
glorious  panorama  of  rugged  coast  and  shining  sea. 
Rain  was  still  threatening,  however,  and  it  seemed 
best  not  to  stop,  as  we  had  planned,  at  Sea  View 
Inn,  near  by,  but  to  return  to  Guerneville  for  the 
night.  The  vistas  seemed  even  more  wonderful  in 
the  gathering  twilight  than  on  our  outward  trip — 
the  great  hills  with  their  fringe  of  forest  loomed 
against  the  rich  sunset  sky  and  purple  shadows 
filled  the  vast  canyons  with  mysterious  gloom. 

The  hotel  at  Guerneville  was  primitive  in  the 
extreme,  but  the  landlord  was  very  considerate  and 
we  were  too  cold  and  hungry  to  be  over-critical. 
Leaving  the  town  on  the  following  morning,  we 
pursued  the  northward  road  along  the  Russian 
River,  passing  Bohemian  Grove,  famous  for  the 
antics  of  a  San  Francisco  club,  to  Monte  Rio,  a 
much  frequented  summer  resort  town.     The  road 

315 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

climbed  a  forest-fringed  grade  with  endless  vistas 
of  river  and  valley  as  well  as  vast  stretches  of 
wooded  hills.  Wild  flowers  bloomed  in  profusion 
and  the  air  was  redolent  with  the  invigorating  fra- 
grance of  the  balsam  pines.  At  the  summit  we 
paused  to  admire  the  endless  panorama  of  hills, 
merging  from  green  into  deep  solid  blue  in  the  far 
distance.  Leaving  Monte  Rio  w^e  followed  a  tortu- 
ous, undulating  road  along  a  clear  little  river.  The 
trees  and  undergrowth  crowded  up  to  the  edge  of 
the  road  and  overarched  it  most  of  the  dozen  or  so 
miles — a  perfect  wall  of  greenery  on  either  hand. 

Beyond  Freestone  w^e  came  again  into  the 
open  hills,  green  and  rolling  and  sloping  to  the  sea 
a  little  to  our  right.  Here  our  admiration  was 
again  excited  by  the  marvel  of  the  w^ild  flowers, 
which  bloomed  in  richest  profusion;  vast  dashes  of 
yellow,  blue  and  white  spangled  the  meadows  and 
hills  through  which  the  fine  road  courses.  At 
Tomales,  an  antique-looking  little  town,  we  came 
to  the  head  of  Tomales  Bay,  a  "shoestring"  of 
water  some  twenty  miles  long  but  nowhere  more 
than  two  miles  wide.  The  road  runs  alongside,  up 
and  down  the  low  hills,  affording  fugitive  glimpses 
of  the  bay,  as  inconstant  in  coloring  as  an  opal. 
From  Olema  we  pursued  the  coast  road — or  shall  I 
say  trail? — to  Bolinas  and  thence  to  the  Sausalito 
Ferry. 

Despite  the  rough  and  difficult  going,  we  had 
reason  to  congratulate  ourselves  upon  our  choice 
of  route,  for  w^e  saw  much  wild  and  picturesque 
coast  and  had  many  clear-cut  views — not  common 
in  the  land  of  frequent  cloud  and  fog — of  the  coast- 

316 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

ward  side  of  San  Francisco.  We  climbed  the  wind- 
ing ascent  to  Forts  Baker  and  Barry,  where  one  of 
the  most  comprehensive  views  of  the  whole  district, 
the  bay,  the  cities  and  the  hills,  may  be  had.  So 
clear  was  the  air  that  the  Farralones,  fifteen  miles 
distant,  stood  out  distinctly  against  the  evening 
sky;  and  in  the  city  the  long  green  strip  of  Golden 
Gate  Park  and  even  the  outlines  of  the  streets  and 
notable  buildings  were  plainly  observable.  It  was 
a  wonderful  scene  and  we  had  the  day  of  a  thousand 
to  view  it.  Good  fortune  still  attended  us  when 
we  crossed  the  ferry,  for  w^e  saw  a  perfect  sunset 
directly  through  the  Golden  Gate.  No  language 
could  exaggerate  the  splendor  of  the  scene;  no 
picture  could  do  justice  to  its  ethereal  beauty  of 
coloring.  Fully  as  enchanting  was  the  afterglow 
with  its  reflections  of  the  crimson  and  gold  cloud 
banks  in  the  still  waters.  Behind  us  the  windows 
and  lights  of  Oakland  and  Berkeley  flashed  like  a 
million  gems  set  in  the  dark  background  of  the  hills, 
and  eastward  the  lavender-tinted  sky  bent  down  to 
the  still  blue  waters  of  the  bay.  We  are  quite  ready 
for  the  spacious  comfort  of  the  Fairmont ;  it  has  not 
been  an  easy  jaunt  by  any  means.  But  we  all  agree 
that  it  would  be  hard  to  find  even  in  California  a 
more  delightful  tour  than  the  little  journey  to  old 
Fort  Ross,  granted  weather  as  propitious  as  that 
which  favored  us. 

It  was  always  a  difficult  matter  for  us  to  shake 
off  the  lure  of  Del  Monte  whenever  we  made  the 
run  between  Los  Angeles  and  San  Francisco  and 
even  though  considerably  out  of  our  way,  we  nearly 
always  put  the  old  capital  on  our  itinerary.     What 

317 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

were  a  hundred  or  so  miles  additional  as  weighed 
against  the  delights  of  the  famous  inn? — and, 
besides,  there  was  one  road  from  San  Francisco  to 
Del  Monte  which  we  had  not  yet  traversed.  We 
have  a  decided  fondness  for  trails  directly  along  the 
ocean,  though  usually  they  are  of  the  worst,  and 
the  little-used  road  along  the  coast  running  south- 
ward from  Golden  Gate  Park  to  Half  Moon  Bay 
and  Santa  Cruz  proved  no  exception  to  the  rule.  In 
fact,  if  it  was  an  exception  in  any  way  it  was  in 
the  degree  of  badness — but  there  is  no  need  antic- 
ipating an  unpleasant  subject.  I  may  say  right 
here,  however,  that  I  think  that  nearly  all  of  this 
wonderful  run  is  now  over  paved  roads  and  de- 
serves to  be  far  more  popular  than  it  is. 

Following  Ocean  Drive  southward  from  the 
Cliff  House  in  Golden  Gate  Park,  a  few  miles  down 
the  coast  the  highway  swings  landward  to  Sloat 
Avenue,  which  we  pursued  to  Colma.  Here  the 
road  turns  to  the  left  and  closely  follows  the  ocean 
through  a  number  of  small  fisher  villages  and  beach 
resorts.  There  are  some  long  and  rather  heavy 
grades  in  places,  but  they  are  atoned  for  by  inspir- 
ing views  of  rugged  coast  and  shining  sea,  par- 
ticularly at  San  Pedro  Point,  just  below  Salada, 
w^here  we  enjoyed  a  far-reaching  vista  from  an  ele- 
vation of  several  hundred  feet  above  the  sea. 
Beyond  Montara  grade  the  road  drops  down  into 
the  fertile  plains  about  Half  Moon  Bay.  Here  is 
the  famous  artichoke  section  of  California  and  we 
saw  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  acres  of  the  suc- 
culent vegetable  in  the  vicinity  of  the  village. 
There  is  also  a  delightful  alternate  route  to  Half 

318 


A  CHAPTER  CNF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

Moon  Bay  which  we  took  on  another  occasion,  fol- 
lowing the  main  highway  to  San  Mateo,  where  a 
well-improved  macadam  road  swings  to  the  left  and 
plunges  into  the  hill  range  between  the  bay  and  the 
ocean.  It  winds  in  graceful  curves  and  easy  grades 
among  the  giant  hills,  passing  several  of  the  huge 
f  resh-w^ater  lakes  of  the  San  Francisco  w^ater  supply 
system.  This  route  is  the  easier  one,  but  hardly  the 
equal  of  the  coast  in  scenic  grandeur. 

Half  Moon  Bay  is  a  forlorn-looking  little  town 
with  a  decidedly  un-American  appearance — which 
is  not  so  strange  since  the  inhabitants,  w^ho  engage 
in  fishing  or  in  cultivating  the  endless  artichoke 
fields  about  the  place,  are  mostly  Portuguese  and 
Italians.  Thinking  that  Half  Moon  Bay,  notwith- 
standing its  unprepossessing  looks,  was  about  our 
only  chance  for  luncheon  before  we  should  reach 
Santa  Cruz,  we  inquired  of  the  bank  cashier,  who 
responded  rather  dubiously,  it  seemed  to  us,  that 
the  French  Hotel  was  the  "best  to  be  had  in  town." 
We  found  it  a  second-class  country  inn  whose  main 
business  was  evidently  done  in  the  bar-room,  which 
occupied  the  most  prominent  place  in  the  building. 
The  lunch  hour  was  past  but  the  proprietor  went 
to  considerable  trouble  to  prepare  a  hot  meal, 
which,  we  agreed  in  Yorkshire  parlance,  "might 
have  been  worse."  Outside  there  was  a  little 
garden  with  some  wonderful  roses  and,  altogether, 
the  inn  was  neater  and  cleaner  than  appearances 
had  led  us  to  expect. 

Our  real  troubles  began  when  we  left  the 
town,  for  a  rougher,  meaner  and  more  uncomfort- 
able fifty  miles  we  hardly  found  in  all  our  wander- 

319 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

ings  in  the  Golden  State.  A  new  macadam  road 
was  being  built  to  Pescadero,  twenty  miles  south, 
and  was  just  at  the  stage  calculated  to  most  distress 
the  motorist.  We  wallowed  through  miles  of  loose, 
sharp  stones,  made  long  detours  through  the  rough, 
steep  hills,  crept  over  shaky  bridges,  plunged  down 
and  out  of  huge  gulches  and  crawled  through  miles 
of  rough,  stony  trails,  deep  with  dust.  Pescadero, 
which  marks  the  end  of  the  railroad,  is  as  lonely 
and  wretched  a  little  hamlet  as  one  will  find  in 
California;  in  fact,  it  took  quite  a  mental  eflFort  to 
assure  ourselves  that  we  really  were  in  California — 
it  reminded  us  so  strongly  of  some  of  the  old-world 
villages  we  had  seen.  We  took  on  "gas"  at  a  di- 
lapidated smithy  recently  decorated  with  a  huge 
"garage"  sign,  though  I  doubt  if  a  sizable  car  could 
have  gotten  inside.  Beyond  Pescadero  the  road 
was  still  rough,  dusty  and  steep  in  places,  but  it  was 
free  from  construction  work  and  we  made  better 
time.  Beyond  Swanton  the  road  steadily  improved. 
When  we  came  into  Santa  Cruz  the  sun  was  still 
high  and  by  grace  of  the  long  evening  we  were  able 
to  reach  Del  Monte  by  way  of  Watsonville  and 
Salinas  shortly  after  dark.  It  is  superfluous  to  re- 
mark on  the  satisfaction  we  experienced  in  reaching 
such  a  haven  of  rest  after  an  unusually  strenuous 
and  uncomfortable  run. 

We  lingered  in  the  pleasant  surroundings  until 
afternoon  of  the  following  day,  making  an  easy 
and  eventless  run  to  Stockton  for  the  night.  We 
had  seen  enough  of  forced  schedules  and  long  hours 
to  determine  us  to  make  the  run  to  Los  Angeles  by 
easier  stages.     Leaving  Stockton  in  the  late  fore- 

320 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

noon,  we  soon  reached  the  little  city  of  Modesto, 
which  hopes  some  day  to  be  the  official  gateway 
of  Yosemite.  Perhaps  it  was  in  anticipation  of  this 
distinction  that  two  immense  hotels,  the  Modesto 
and  the  Hughson,  seemingly  out  of  all  proportion 
to  any  possible  need,  were  being  built.  The  former 
was  practically  completed,  a  seven-story  concrete 
structure  with  all  modern  hotel  improvements  and 
conveniences,  including  ballroom,  roof  garden,  and 
swimming  pool.  The  Hughson  was  even  larger 
and  we  could  not  help  wondering  if  the  hotel  busi- 
ness in  Modesto  were  not  in  danger  of  being  slightly 
overdone. 

At  Merced  we  found  another  handsome  new 
hotel,  the  Capitan,  which  would  be  a  credit  to  a  city 
with  several  times  Merced's  four  or  five  thousand 
people,  but  perhaps  the  Yosemite  traffic  justifies 
the  enterprise  of  the  builders.  We  paused  here  for 
lunch  and  I  w^as  greatly  amused  at  a  conversation 
which  I  overheard  in  the  lobby,  illustrating  the  ef- 
fect of  the  California  microbe  upon  so  many  visit- 
ing Easterners.  A  gentleman  wearing  a  light  sum- 
mer suit,  a  white  hat  and  white  shoes,  and  carrying 
a  camera  and  golf  bag — the  very  personification  of 
a  man  who  w^as  enjoying  life  to  the  limit — was  just 
leaving  for  the  train. 

"Well,"  queried  a  friend  who  met  him,  "are 
you  about  ready  to  go  back  to  Peoria?" 

"Go  back  to  Peoria! — go  back  to  Peoria!! 
I'm  never  going  back  to  Peoria  if  I  live  a  hundred 
years.  Say,  do  you  know  that  I  wouldn't  take  all 
the  Eastern  States  as  a  gift  if  I  had  to  live  in  'em, 
after  having  lived  in  California?" 

321 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

A  straight,  level  road  runs  from  Merced  to 
Fresno  on  the  south,  one  of  the  finest  links  of  the 
inland  route  of  the  new  state  highway.  We  found 
much  of  it  under  construction  at  the  time  and  in 
passing  around  through  the  w^heatfields  we  struck 
some  of  the  deepest  dust  and  roughest  running  that 
we  found  anywhere.  We  made  up  for  it  when  we 
came  back  into  the  finished  portion,  which  extended 
for  several  miles  north  of  Fresno.  It  is  a  perfect 
road — concrete  with  a  "carpet"  of  crushed  stone 
and  asphaltum  rolled  as  smooth  and  hard  as  pol- 
ished slate.  It  runs  for  miles  through  wheatfields, 
whose  magnitude  may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that 
we  saw  a  dozen  ten-mule  teams  ploughing  one 
tract.  Near  Fresno  we  ran  into  the  endless  vine- 
yards which  surround  the  raisin  town  and  which 
looked  green  and  prosperous,  despite  the  drouth 
which  had  nearly  ruined  the  wheat.  The  raisin 
crop  is  one  of  Fresno  County's  greatest  sources  of 
wealth,  netting  the  growers  over  five  million  dollars 
yearly.  The  abundant  sunshine  makes  the  grapes 
too  sweet  for  light  w^ines,  though  there  were  several 
wineries  producing  the  heavier  quality,  which  was 
mostly  shipped  to  Europe,  where  it  was  blended 
with  lighter  wine  and  sent  back  strictly  an  "im- 
ported product."  This  practice,  of  course,  became 
obsolete  with  the  advent  of  prohibition,  but  the 
Fresno  growers,  as  is  the  case  everywhere,  are  now 
reaping  the  greatest  profits  in  their  history. 

Fresno,  with  a  population  of  nearly  fifty 
thousand,  has  quadrupled  in  size  in  the  last  twenty 
years.  It  is  thoroughly  metropolitan  in  appearance 
and   in   public   and   private    improvements.     The 

322 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

Hotel  Fresno  is  an  immense  fireproof  structure  of 
marble  and  concrete  that  will  compare  favorably 
with  the  best  hotels  in  many  cities  ten  times  as  large 
as  Fresno,  and  here  on  our  first  visit  we  proposed 
to  stop  for  the  night,  but  changed  our  plan  when 
we  found  that  a  road  out  of  the  town  crosses  the 
mountain  ranges  to  the  sea.  We  had  not  forgotten 
our  failure  to  see  San  Antonio  and  La  Purisima  on 
our  upward  trek — and  determined  to  seize  the  op- 
portunity to  get  back  to  the  coast.  Paso  Robles 
seemed  the  only  satisfactory  stopping  place  for  the 
following  night,  but  if  we  stayed  in  Fresno  we  could 
hardly  hope  to  reach  the  "Pass  of  the  Oaks"  the 
next  day.  The  road  cuts  squarely  across  the  desert 
to  Coalinga  and  we  found  ourselves  wondering 
what  kind  of  accommodations  we  should  find  at 
Coalinga.  A  garage  man  said  he  had  been  there 
once — a  place  of  five  hundred  people,  he  guessed, 
and  there  was  a  pretty  good  boarding-house  dow^n 
by  the  depot.  Not  a  very  attractive  prospect,  to  be 
sure,  but  Coalinga  was  the  only  town  between  Fres- 
no and  the  mountains.  It  was  some  sixty  miles 
distant,  and  by  hitting  a  lively  pace  we  could  reach 
it  by  dark — if  w^e  had  no  ill  luck. 

For  ten  miles  out  of  Fresno  we  followed  Palm 
Drive — a  splendid  boulevard  between  rows  of 
stately  palms,  the  largest  we  had  seen  in  California. 
At  the  end  of  the  drive  we  turned  sharply  to  the  left 
following  an  unimproved  road  into  the  desert. 
This  road  is  as  level  as  a  floor — a  perfect  boulevard 
in  dry  weather — though  abandoned  ruts  indicated 
pretty  heavy  work  after  the  infrequent  rains.     For 

the  entire  distance  there  was  little  variation ;  about 

323 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

midway  we  came  to  a  green  belt  of  pastures  and 
trees  along  Kings  River,  and  a  new  railroad  was 
being  built  through  this  section.  A  native  at  a  little 
wayside  store — the  only  station  on  the  way — told 
us  that  this  desert  land,  counted  w^orthless  a  few 
years  ago,  was  now  worth  as  much  as  twenty-five 
dollars  per  acre  and  that  it  was  all  capable  of  being 
farmed.  It  certainly  did  not  look  so ;  a  white,  alkali- 
frosted  plain  tufted  with  greasewood  and  teeming 
with  jack-rabbits  stretched  away  to  distant  hills  on 
either  side.  The  road  meandered  onward  at  its  own 
sweet  w^ill  and  when  it  became  too  rough  or  dusty 
in  spots  it  was  only  necessary  to  take  another  tack 
to  have  an  entirely  new  boulevard.  We  did  some 
lively  going  over  the  hard,  smooth  surface,  which 
made  forty  miles  seem  a  fairly  moderate  pace,  but 
we  were  at  a  sore  loss  when  we  came  to  a  branch 
road  in  the  middle  of  the  plain,  with  nothing  to 
indicate  which  led  to  our  destination.  We  had  just 
decided  to  take  the  w^rong  one  when  an  auto  hove 
into  sight  and  we  paused  to  inquire. 

"Straight  ahead  on  the  road,  my  brother;  you 
can't  miss  it  now  and  when  you  get  to  Coalinga  go 
to  Smith's  garage,  and  God  bless  you." 

We  concluded  that  we  must  have  run  across  a 
peripatetic  evangelist,  but  when  w^e  went  to  Smith's 
garage — only  it  wasn't  Smith's — after  dinner  to 
get  an  article  from  the  car,  we  found  our  pious 
friend  manager  of  the  place. 

As  we  came  near  the  range  of  brown  hills  be- 
neath which  the  town  lies,  we  saw  a  row  of  oil- 
derricks  running  for  miles  along  the  side  of  the 
valley,  for  here  is  the  greatest  oil-producing  section 

324 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

of  California.  The  oil  fields  have  made  Coalinga, 
which  we  were  surprised  and  pleased  to  find  a  live- 
looking  town  of  several  thousand  people,  with  an 
excellent  modern  hotel  quite  the  equal  of  the  best 
country  tow^n  hostelries. 

Coalinga  is  full  of  California  "boost;"  our 
friend  at  the  garage  endeavored  to  enlist  our  sympa- 
thy in  a  movement  to  put  the  town  on  the  state 
highway  map — though  I  failed  to  see  how^  we  could 
be  of  much  use  to  the  enterprise. 

"O,  a  word  from  tourists  always  helps,  my 
brother.  You  can  write  a  letter  to  the  commission- 
ers and  tell  them  that  we  need  the  road  and  I  reckon 
you'll  know  that  we  need  it  if  you  cross  the  hills  to 
King  City,  as  you  propose.  You'll  find  it  some- 
thing fierce,  I  can  promise  you;  crooked,  rough, 
stony,  steep — lucky  if  you  get  through  without  a 
breakdown.  There  are  one  hundred  and  fifty  fords 
in  the  sixty  miles — no,  I  don't  mean  Ford  automo- 
biles, but  creeks  and  rivers.  It's  shoot  dow^n  a  steep 
bank  and  jump  out,  and  the  sharp  stones  won't 
help  your  tires  any,  either.  There  are  some 
grades,  too,  I  want  to  tell  you,  but  your  rig  looks 
as  if  they  wouldn't  worry  her  much.  But  when  you 
get  across,  write  a  line  to  the  Highway  Commission 
and  tell  them  something  about  it.  So  long!  God 
bless  you  all." 

When  we  waved  our  pious  monitor  adios  and 
resumed  our  journey,  it  was  still  early  morning.  Of 
course  we  took  the  one  hundred  and  fifty  fords  as 
a  pleasant  bit  of  exaggeration — w^e  couldn't  use  a 
stronger  term  in  view  of  our  friend's  evident  piety ; 
but  we  found,  in  slang  parlance,  that  his  statement 

325 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

was  literally  "no  joke."  We  kept  count  of  the 
times  we  crossed  streams  of  running  water  and 
there  were  just  one  hundred  and  eighteen,  and 
enough  had  dried  up  to  make  full  measure  for  Mr. 
Smith's  estimate,  with  a  few  to  spare.  And  fear- 
fully rough  going  it  was — sharp  plunges  down 
steep  banks,  splashing  through  shallow  streams, 
over  stones  and  sand,  and  wild  scrambles  up  the  op- 
posite side,  an  experience  repeated  every  few 
minutes.  At  times  the  trail  followed  the  bed  of  a 
stream  or  meandered  closely  along  the  shores,  never 
getting  very  far  away  for  the  first  dozen  miles. 
Then  we  entered  a  hill  range,  barren  at  first,  but 
gradually  becoming  wooded  and  overlooking  long 
valleys  studded  with  groups  of  oak  and  sycamore, 
with  green  vistas  underneath.  There  was  some 
strenuous  work  over  the  main  mountain  range, 
where  the  road  was  a  narrow  shelf  cut  in  solid  rock, 
with  a  precipice  above  and  below.  It  had  many 
heavy  grades  and  sharp,  dangerous  turns;  we  all 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  we  found  ourselves 
in  the  valley  on  the  western  side  of  the  range.  Here 
were  more  streams  to  be  forded — one  of  them  a 
sizable  river,  which  we  crossed  several  times. 

At  last  we  came  out  into  the  King  City  high- 
way and  paused  a  moment  to  look  ourselves  over. 
The  car  was  plastered  with  sand  and  mire  from  stem 
to  stern;  tires  had  suffered  sadly  from  the  rocky 
bottoms  of  the  streams,  and  a  front  spring  was 
broken.  We  agreed  that  crossing  from  Coalinga  to 
King  City  was  an  experience  one  would  hardly  care 
to  repeat  except  under  stringent  necessity. 

The  run  to  King  City,  after  we  had  left  the 

326 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

hills,  was  easy,  enabling  us  to  make  up  somewhat 
for  the  time  consumed  in  crossing  the  range.  A 
flock  of  more  than  two  thousand  sheep,  driven 
along  the  highway,  impeded  our  progress  for  half 
an  hour  and  served  to  remind  us  of  one  of  the  great 
industries  of  the  Salinas  Valley. 

A  little  foraging  about  King  City  provided  a 
passable  luncheon,  which  we  ate  under  one  of  the 
mighty  oaks  at  the  foot  of  Jolon  grade.  In  repass- 
ing this  road,  we  were  more  than  ever  impressed 
with  the  beauty  of  the  trees;  thousands  of  ancient 
oaks  dotted  the  landscape  on  either  hand,  some 
standing  in  solitary  majesty  and  others  clustered  in 
picturesque  groups.  Dutton's  Hotel  at  Jolon  is 
nearly  a  century  old,  portions  of  it  dating  from 
mission  days,  and  the  proprietor  is  an  enthusiast  on 
historic  California,  having  collected  a  goodly  num- 
ber of  old-time  relics  in  a  little  museum  just  across 
the  road  from  the  inn.  Most  of  these  came  from 
San  Antonio  and  the  inn-keeper  is  anxiously  look- 
ing forward  to  the  day  when  he  can  return  these 
treasures  to  the  restored  mission — though  this, 
alas,  does  not  appear  to  be  in  the  near  future. 

It  was  to  visit  this  ruin,  which  we  missed  on 
our  northward  trip,  that  we  crossed  the  desert  and 
mountains  from  Fresno  to  King  City.  It  is  one  of 
the  remotest  and  loneliest  of  the  chain,  the  nearest 
railway  station  being  King  City,  forty  miles  away. 
It  stands  six  miles  west  of  Jolon  and  we  followed 
a  rutty  trail,  deep  with  fine,  yellow  dust  which 
rolled  in  strangling  clouds  from  our  wheels.  But 
a  lovely  country  on  either  hand  glimmered  through 
the  dust  haze,  and  in  the  pleasantest  spot  at  the 

327 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

head  of  the  wide  valley  stood  the  brown  old  ruin  of 
San  Antonio  Mission.  Behind  it  towered  the  high 
blue  peaks  of  the  Santa  Lucias,  the  only  barrier  re- 
maining between  the  valley  and  the  sea,  while  the 
windowless,  burnt-brick  fachada  fronted  upon  a 
wide  meadowland,  dotted  with  glorious  oaks  and 
gnarled  old  willows,  stretching  away  to  the  dim 
outlines  of  the  distant  hills. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  delightful  sites  we  had 
yet  seen,  and  the  ruin  had  a  certain  melancholy 
picturesqueness  peculiar  to  it  alone.  Like  so  many 
of  its  contemporaries,  it  suffered  severely  from 
earthquakes;  about  twenty-five  years  ago  the  roof 
fell  and  the  shattered  walls  would  soon  have  fol- 
lowed had  not  an  enthusiastic  lover  of  the  old  order 
of  things — a  gentleman  of  Spanish  descent  residing 
near  Jolon — undertaken  at  his  own  time  and  ex- 
pense to  clear  away  the  debris  and  protect  the  ruin 
against  farther  onslaught  of  the  weather.  A  shingle 
roof  was  built  covering  the  entire  church  and  the 
original  tiles  were  piled  inside.  The  fachada,  built 
of  burnt  brick,  with  three  entrances  and  three  bel- 
fries, is  one  of  the  most  charming  bits  of  mission 
architecture  still  remaining  and  is  happily  almost 
intact.  Portions  of  the  long  cloisters  are  still  stand- 
ing— enough  to  furnish  the  motif  for  a  complete 
restoration,  and  with  adequate  funds  it  would  not 
be  a  difficult  matter  to  restore  San  Antonio  Mission 
Church  to  its  former  state. 

Inside,  the  church  was  quite  denuded;  birds 
and  squirrels  had  found  a  convenient  home  and 
flitted  or  scampered  about  as  we  entered.  A  huge 
gray  owl  flapped  heavily  out  of  an  empty  window 

328 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

and  everything  combined  to  impress  upon  us  the 
loneliness  and  isolation  of  this  once  rich  and  pros- 
perous mission.  In  one  corner  we  descried  the 
huge  cast-iron  community  pot  which  might  hold  a 
hundred  or  two  gallons  and  which  once  contained 
food  for  the  unmarried  folk  among  the  Indians — 
the  married  had  to  do  their  own  cooking.  Inside 
the  dismantled  chancel  were  the  graves  of  the  first 
four  missionaries  of  San  Antonio,  still  the  objects 
of  reverent  remembrance  by  the  only  Indian  family 
of  the  vicinity. 

Out  of  the  church  we  came  into  the  ancient 
patio,  marked  by  crumbling  arches  and  shapeless 
piles  of  adobe.  Here  a  few  scraggly  rose  bushes — 
descendants  of  those  which  once  ornamented  the 
garden  of  the  padres — bloomed  in  neglected 
corners,  and  two  old  olives  still  defied  time  and 
w^eather.  It  was  a  quiet  spot;  its  silence  and  loneli- 
ness were  almost  oppressive;  but  we  soon  heard 
sounds  from  beyond  the  wall  and  found  two  Mexi- 
cans digging  a  grave,  for  burials  are  still  made  in 
the  old  cemetery.  A  little  way  to  the  rear  San 
Antonio  Creek — now  a  trickling  thread  of  water — 
w^inds  through  a  fringe  of  ancient  willows,  and 
cattle  were  pasturing  quietly  in  the  shade.  One 
can  not  escape  the  spell  of  the  ruin  and  its  sur- 
roundings. It  is  no  w^onder  that  an  appreciative 
historian  of  the  California  missions  declares  that 
San  Antonio  appeals  to  him  as  do  none  of  its  rivals, 
that — "There  is  a  pathetic  dignity  about  the  ruin, 
an  unexpressed  claim  for  sympathy  in  the  perfect 
solitude  of  the  place  that  is  almost  overpowering. 
It  stands  out  in  the    fields    alone,    deserted,    for- 

329 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

gotten."  True,  he  wrote  before  the  coming  of  the 
motor,  which  is  doing  something  to  rescue  San 
Antonio  Mission  from  complete  obHvion;  but  the 
Mexican  grave-digger  said  that  even  motor  visitors 
were  not  frequent.  Evidently  many  of  the  way- 
farers on  El  Camino  Real  do  not  consider  the 
twelve-mile  detour  worth  while;  but  we  would 
count  ourselves  well  repaid  had  it  consumed  an 
entire  day  instead  of  an  hour  or  two.  If  San  Gabriel 
and  Dolores  may  be  compared  as  tourist  shrines  to 
Melrose  and  Dryburgh,  syrely  San  Antonio  may 
vie  in  sentiment  and  charm  with  some  of  the  out-of- 
the-way  and  lesser-known  abbeys  of  Britain  such 
as  Glenluce  or  Calder.  In  this  quiet  and  isolated 
spot  there  is  hardly  field  for  it  as  a  church  institu- 
tion and  restoration  will  have  to  be  done  by  indi- 
viduals or  by  the  state.  It  would  be  a  pity  to  allow 
this  delightful  example  of  early  mission  architecture 
to  fall  into  the  hopeless  ruin  of  Soledad  or  La 
Purisima. 

San  Antonio  has  the  added  charm  of  being 
one  of  the  oldest  of  the  California  missions.  It  was 
the  third  of  the  series,  its  foundation  closely  follow- 
ing that  of  Monterey.  Serra  himself,  assisted  by 
Pieras  and  Sitjar,  conducted  the  ceremonies  of 
consecration  which  took  place  July  14,  1771.  One 
lone  Indian  was  present  on  the  occasion,  but  others 
were  brought  in  before  the  day  closed  and  the  re- 
lations of  priest  and  natives  were  harmonious  from 
the  start.  San  Antonio  throughout  its  career  was 
remarkably  free  from  strife  and  trouble ;  the  natives 
were  industrious  and  peaceful  and  gladly  joined  in 

the  work  of  building,  and  tilling  the  soil.    The  first 

330 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

church  was  completed  two  years  after  the  founda- 
tion, and  as  late  as  1  787  was  regarded  as  the  best 
in  California.  The  present  church  w^as  begun  in 
1810  and  dedicated  a  few  years  later.  It  is  of  adobe 
excepting  the  fachada  of  burnt  brick,  whose  per- 
fect condition  makes  us  regret  that  the  whole  mis- 
sion could  not  have  been  built  of  the  same  endur- 
ing material.  The  greatest  Indian  population  was 
thirteen  hundred  and  nine  in  1805,  which  had  de- 
clined to  two  hundred  and  seventy  in  1834,  the 
year  of  secularization.  In  1843  the  mission  was 
restored  to  the  church  and  nominally  occupied  until 
about  forty  years  ago.  At  that  time  the  buildings 
were  in  a  fair  state  and  the  present  ruin  was 
wrought  chiefly  by  earthquake. 

Pausing  a  moment  for  one  more  survey  of  the 
lovely  valley  and  w^ith  a  lingering  look  at  the  ro- 
mantic old  ruin  over  which  the  shadows  of  evening 
were  beginning  to  lower,  w^e  were  away  for  Paso 
Robles,  which  we  reached  before  nightfall. 

We  retraced  our  way  over  El  Camino  Real  the 
following  morning  as  far  as  Santa  Margarita,  from 
whence  we  diverged  to  the  coast  road.  For  on  our 
outward  journey  we  had  missed  another  of  the 
missions — La  Purisima,  situated  a  few^  miles  from 
Lompoc.  The  road  which  we  followed  out  of  Santa 
Margarita  was  unmercifully  rough,  and  a  fierce 
w^ind  from  the  sea  blinded  us  with  clouds  of  dust 
and  sand.  We  were  glad  when  we  reached  the 
shelter  of  the  giant  hills,  just  beyond  which  lay  the 
object  of  our  pilgrimage.  The  ascent  seemed  almost 
interminable;  the  yellow  road  swept  along  the  hill- 
sides, rising  steadily  in  long  loops  which  we  could 

331 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

see  winding  downward  as  we  looked  back  from  the 
summit.  The  grade  was  not  heavy,  but  continu- 
ous; the  descent  was  shorter  and  steeper  and  we 
dropped  quickly  into  the  pleasant  valley  of  the 
Santa  Ynez,  where  stands  the  isolated  village  of 
Lompoc. 

A  few  miles  out  of  the  town  we  beheld  the 
object  of  our  search — the  lonely  ruin  of  La  Puris- 
ima  Concepcion,  standing  at  some  distance  from 
the  highroad,  surrounded  by  a  wide  wheatfield.  A 
narrow  lane,  deep  w^ith  dust  and  sand,  almost  im- 
passable in  places,  led  to  the  melancholy  old  pile, 
which  we  found  even  more  dilapidated  than  San 
Antonio.  It  is  little  more  than  a  heap  of  adobe, 
and  the  rent  and  sundered  walls  show^  plainly  the 
agency  of  the  earthquake — the  deadly  foe  of  the 
California  missions.  The  w^inter  rains  have 
wrought  havoc  with  the  unroofed  w^alls;  only  one 
or  two  w^indow  openings  remain  and  the  outlines 
of  a  single  doorway  may  still  be  seen.  The  most 
striking  feature  is  the  row^  of  twenty  square  filleted 
pillars  gleaming  vv^ith  w^hite  plaster,  the  corners 
striped  with  still  brilliant  red.  These  formed  a  long 
arcade  from  which  there  must  have  been  a  glorious 
view  of  wooded  valley  and  rugged  hills  when  the 
good  old  padres  conned  their  prayers  in  its  shady 
seclusion.  There  is  hardly  enough  to  give  an  ade- 
quate idea  of  the  plan  of  the  structure  when  at  its 
best — little  is  left  of  the  church  except  its  founda- 
tion, but  it  seems  to  have  been  quite  unique  in 
design.  The  old  tiles  that  once  formed  the  roof  are 
piled  near  by — but  there  is  little  hope  that  they  will 
ever  be  used  in  the  restoration  of  La  Purisima  Con- 

332 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

cepcion.  About  thirty  years  ago  Helen  Hunt  Jack- 
son visited  the  mission  and  found  the  dormitory 
building  standing  and  used  as  a  sheep-fold.  The 
church  then  showed  traces  of  its  ancient  decora- 
tions and  the  pulpit  and  altar  rail  were  still  in  place, 
though  in  sad  disrepair.  The  condition  of  the  ruin 
to-day  shows  how  rapid  has  been  its  decay  since 
that  time  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  unless  something 
is  done  to  protect  it,  all  traces  will  have  vanished  in 
another  quarter  century. 

The  mission  which  we  visited  was  not  the 
original  La  Purisima;  of  this  only  a  few^  earthen 
heaps  remain.  The  date  of  its  foundation  w^as  De- 
cember 8,  1  787,  and  the  ceremonies  were  conducted 
by  Padre  Lasuen,  who  has  so  many  missions  to  his 
credit.  The  success  of  the  new  venture  was  phe- 
nomenal— in  less  than  twenty  years  the  population 
numbered  over  fifteen  hundred  and  the  mission  was 
rich  in  live  stock  and  other  property.  This  pros- 
perity received  a  sad  check  from  the  great  earth- 
quake of  1812,  which  totally  destroyed  the  build- 
ings, leaving  the  people  homeless  at  the  beginning 
of  an  unusually  wet  and  cold  winter.  Then  it  was 
that  the  original  site  was  abandoned  and  the  erec- 
tion begun  of  the  buildings  which  I  have  described. 
The  Indians  were  intelligent  and  industrious  and 
worked  hard  to  rebuild  the  mission  and  their  homes, 
which  had  also  been  destroyed.  An  extensive  irri- 
gation scheme  was  devised  and  carried  out,  but  a 
series  of  misfortunes  prevented  the  return  of  former 
prosperity.  Plague  decimated  the  cattle  and  sheep, 
and  fire  destroyed  the  neophytes'  quarters  in  1818. 

In    1823    the   revolt   at   Santa    Barbara   spread   to 

333 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

Purisima,  and  several  Indians  and  Spanish  soldiers 
were  killed  before  quiet  was  restored.  Under  such 
depressing  influence  the  population  steadily  de- 
clined and  numbered  but  four  hundred  at  seculari- 
zation in  1835.  After  the  looting  was  completed 
the  property  was  turned  back  to  the  church  in  1 843, 
but  a  year  later  an  epidemic  of  smallpox  practically 
wiped  out  the  scanty  remnants  of  the  Indian  popu- 
lation. From  that  time  the  mission  was  abandoned 
and  uncared  for,  gradually  falling  into  ruin,  and  its 
melancholy  condition  to-day  is  the  result  of  seventy 
years  of  decay  and  neglect. 

Leaving  Lompoc,  w^e  followed  the  Santa  Ynez 
River  for  several  miles.  The  road  winds  among  the 
splendid  oaks  which  overarch  it  much  of  the  way 
and  finally  joins  the  main  highway  at  the  top  of 
Gaviota  Pass.  It  seldom  took  us  out  of  sight  of  the 
river,  though  in  places  it  rose  to  a  considerable  dis- 
tance above  the  stream  which  dashed  in  shallow 
rapids  over  its  stony  bed.  The  last  few  miles  were 
a  steady  climb,  but  there  was  much  sylvan  beauty 
along  the  way — wooded  slopes  dropped  far  beneath 
on  one  hand  and  rose  high  above  us  on  the  other. 
Through  occasional  openings  in  the  trees  we  caught 
long  vistas  of  hills  and  valleys,  now  touched  with 
soft  blue  shadows  heralding  the  approach  of  even- 
ing. From  the  summit  of  Gaviota  the  long  winding 
descent  brought  us  to  the  broad  sweep  of  the  sun- 
set sea,  which  we  followed  in  the  teeth  of  a  high 
wind  to  Santa  Barbara,  w^here  the  Arlington  af- 
forded a  welcome  pause  to  a  strenuous  day. 

Just  across  the  bridge  a  few  miles  out  of  Ven- 
tura we  noted  a  sign,  "To  Nordhoff,"  and  deter- 

334 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

mined  to  return  to  Los  Angeles  by  this  route.  It 
proved  a  fortunate  choice,  the  rare  beauty  of  the 
first  twenty  miles  atoning  for  some  rough  running 
later.  For  the  entire  distance  we  closely  followed 
the  Ventura  River,  a  clear,  dashing  mountain 
stream  bordered  by  hundreds  of  splendid  oaks 
w^hose  branches  frequently  met  over  our  heads. 
We  crossed  the  stream  many  times,  fording  it  in  a 
few  places,  and  passed  many  lovely  sylvan  glades 
— ideal  spots  for  picnic  or  camp.  Along  the  road 
were  water  tanks  to  supply  the  sprinklers,  which 
kept  down  the  dust  during  the  rainless  season,  giv- 
ing added  freshness  to  the  cool  retreats  along  this 
pleasant  road.  Nordhoff  is  a  lonely  little  town  of 
two  or  three  hundred  people,  set  down  in  the  giant 
hills  surrounding  it  on  every  hand.  Four  or  five 
miles  up  the  mountainside  is  Matilija  Hot  Springs, 
with  a  well-appointed  resort  hotel,  a  favorite  w^ith 
motorists,  who  frequently  come  from  Los  Angeles 
to  spend  the  week-end. 

Out  of  Nordhoff  we  climbed  a  stiff  mountain 
grade  on  the  road  to  Santa  Paula,  which  we  found 
another  isolated  little  town  at  the  edge  of  the  hills. 
From  here  we  pursued  a  fairly  level  but  rough  and 
sandy  road  to  Saugus,  a  few  miles  beyond  which 
we  came  into  the  new  boulevard  leading  through 
Newhall  Tunnel  to  San  Fernando.  An  hour's  run 
took  us  into  the  city,  just  two  weeks  after  our  de- 
parture, and  our  odometer  indicated  that  we  had 
covered  two  thousand  miles  during  that  time. 

A  year  later,  on  our  return  from  the  north,  we 

pursued  the  "Inland  Route"  by  way  of  Bakersfield 

and  the  Tejon  Pass.     This  route  has  been  finally 

335 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

adopted  by  the  State  Highway  Commission,  but  at 
the  time  of  our  trip  little  had  been  done  to  improve 
the  road  north  of  Saugus,  thirty  miles  from  Los 
Angeles.  It  certainly  was  in  need  of  improvement, 
as  the  notes  set  down  in  my  "log  book"  testify. 
Concerning  our  run  betw^een  Fresno  and  Bakers- 
field  I  find  the  following  comment: 

"A  day  on  rotten  roads — hardly  a  decent  mile 
between  the  tw^o  towns.  We  followed  the  line  of 
the  Southern  Pacific  for  the  entire  day  over  a 
neglected,  sandy  trail,  with  occasional  broken-up 
oiled  stretches.  Towns  on  the  way  were  little, 
lonely,  sandy  places,  unattractive  and  poorly  im- 
proved. No  state  highway  completed,  though  some 
work  w^as  in  progress  in  Kern  and  Fresno  Counties, 
making  several  detours  necessary — not  a  mile  free 
from  unmerciful  jolting." 

And  here  I  might  remark  that  had  w^e  taken 
the  longer  route  from  Goshen  to  Delano  by  the  way 
of  Visalia  and  Portersville,  we  might  have  avoided 
forty  miles  of  the  roughest  road.  The  highway  is  to 
make  this  detour ;  but  there  was  no  immediate  pros- 
pect of  building  it  at  the  time  of  our  trip,  as  Tulare 
County  felt  too  poor  to  buy  the  bonds. 

For  several  miles  out  of  Fresno  we  ran  through 
vineyards  and  orchards,  passing  two  or  three  large 
wineries  not  far  from  the  road.  A  narrow  belt  of 
grainfields  and  meadows  succeeded,  but  the  country 
gradually  became  poorer  until  we  found  ourselves 
in  a  sandy  desert  w^hose  only  vegetation  was  a  short 
red  grass  with  barbed  needles  which  stick  to  one's 
clothing  in  an  annoying  manner. 

Maps  of  California  usually  show  Lake  Tulare 

336 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

as  a  considerable  body  of  water,  twenty  to  thirty 
miles  in  diameter,  lying  a  few  miles  w^est  of  the 
town.  They  told  us  at  Tulare  that  the  lake  had 
practically  disappeared,  a  good  part  of  its  bed  now 
being  occupied  by  wheatfields.  Dry  w^eather  and 
the  diversion  of  water  for  irrigation  have  been  the 
chief  factors  in  wiping  out  the  lake,  which  was 
never  much  more  than  a  shallow  morass. 

Beyond  Tulare  we  again  came  into  a  sandy, 
desert-looking  country  and  were  astonished  to  see 
billboards  in  one  of  the  little  towns  offering  "bar- 
gains in  land  at  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars 
per  acre" — to  all  appearances  the  country  was  as 
barren  and  unpromising  as  the  Sahara,  but  no  doubt 
the  price  included  irrigation  rights.  Along  this 
road  we  noticed  occasional  groves  of  stunted 
eucalyptus  trees,  neglected  and  dying  in  many 
instances.  It  occurred  to  us  that  these  groves  w^ere 
planted  by  the  concerns  which  sold  stock  to  Eastern 
"investors'*  on  representation  that  the  eucalyptus 
combined  all  the  merits  to  be  found  in  all  the  trees 
of  the  forest.  The  fact  is  that  it  is  not  fit  for  much 
and  the  "fly-by-night"  concerns  disappeared  as  soon 
as  they  had  pocketed  the  cash,  leaving  their  victims 
to  bemoan  "another  California  swindle." 

While  the  country  was  mostly  flat  and  uninter- 
esting, the  scene  was  varied  by  the  dim  ranks  of  the 
Sierras  far  to  our  left  all  day  long — always  domin- 
ated by  one  lone,  snow-capped  summit  rising  in 
solemn  majesty  above  the  blue  shadows  that 
shrouded  the  lower  ranges.  It  was  Mount  Whitney, 
the  highest  peak  within  the  limits  of  the  United 
States,  with  an  altitude  of    fifteen    thousand    feet 

337 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

above  sea  level.  A  road  leads  well  up  the  slopes 
of  the  mountain  and  from  its  termination  one  may 
ascend  in  three  hours  by  an  easy  trail  to  the  summit, 
which  affords  one  of  the  grandest  views  on  the 
American  continent. 

In  this  same  vicinity,  about  twenty-five  miles 
east  of  Visalia,  are  Sequoia  and  General  Grant 
National  Parks,  each  of  w^hich  has  a  grove  of  red- 
woods, and  the  former  is  said  to  be  the  most  ex- 
tensive in  the  state.  It  has  one  tree,  the  General 
Sherman,  which  contests  with  the  Grizzly  Giant 
of  Mariposa  for  the  honor  of  being  the  largest  living 
tree  in  the  w^orld,  being  eighty  feet  in  circumference 
one  hundred  feet  from  its  base.  In  all  there  are 
over  three  thousand  trees  in  this  grove  which 
measure  forty-five  feet  or  more  in  circumference. 
Both  of  these  parks  are  easily  reached  by  motor 
from  Visalia. 

We  reached  Bakersfield  w^eary  enough  to  wish 
for  the  comforts  of  Del  Monte,  but  found  the  New 
Southern  far  from  the  realization  of  our  desires. 
It  was  "new^"  in  name  only — apparently  an  old 
building  w^ith  furnishings  and  service  far  below  the 
California  standard  for  towns  like  Bakersfield,  a 
live-looking  place  of  nineteen  thousand  people.  It 
is  the  center  of  an  oil-producing  section  and  has 
considerable  wholesale  trade. 

A  few  miles  out  of  tow^n,  on  the  Tejon  route, 
we  found  ourselves  again  in  the  desert  and 
ploughed  through  several  miles  of  heavy  sand  be- 
fore reaching  the  hill  range  to  the  south.  There 
were  no  houses  or  people  for  many  miles,  the  only 
sign  of  civilization  being  an  oil-pumping  station 

338 


A   ROAD    TKJfOrCll    Till-:    J :  !■;  I  >\\  n(  m 'S 
From    Photograph    by    Pillsbury 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

near  the  foothills.  We  beheld  a  wide  stretch  of 
sandy  country,  dashed  with  red  and  purple  grasses 
and  occasional  wild  flowers.  To  the  south  and  east 
lay  the  mottled  hill  ranges,  half  hidden  by  dun  and 
purple  hazes  and  cloud-swept  in  places.  Before  us 
rose  a  single  snow-capped  peak  and  as  we  ascended 
the  rough,  winding  grades  of  Tejon  Pass,  we  were 
met  by  a  chilly  wind  which  increased  in  frigidity 
and  intensity  until  we  found  need  for  all  the  dis- 
carded wraps  in  the  car.  Some  distance  from  the 
foot  of  the  grade  we  came  to  Neenach  Post  Office, 
which  proved  only  a  small  country  store,  and  be- 
yond this  were  long  stretches  of  sandy  desert 
dotted  with  cacti  and  scrub  cedars  and  swarming 
with  lizards  and  horned  toads.  The  cactus  blooms 
lent  a  pleasing  bit  of  color  to  the  brown  monotone 
of  the  landscape — myriads  of  delicate  yellow,  pink, 
red,  and  white  flowers  guarded  by  millions  of 
needle-like  spines. 

The  desert  road  continued  for  fifty  miles — 
deep  sand  and  rough,  broken  trails  alternating  with 
occasional  stretches  of  easy  going  over  smooth  sand 
packed  as  hard  as  cement.  As  we  came  to  Palm- 
dale,  a  lonely  little  town  marking  the  terminus  of 
the  railroad,  we  noted  frequent  cultivated  fields 
which  showed  the  fertility  of  this  barren  desert 
when  irrigated.  From  Palmdale  we  proceeded  to 
Saugus  through  Mint  Canyon,  since  the  San  Fran- 
cisquito  and  Bosquet  routes — both  shorter — were 
closed  by  washouts.  We  found  the  state  highway 
completed  to  Saugus ;  the  village  showed  many  im- 
provements and  had  a  decidedly  smarter  appear- 
ance than  two  years  previously — a  result  that  will 

339 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

no  doubt  follow  in  all  the  little  towns  when  the 
highway  reaches  them.  Near  Saugus  we  passed 
over  the  great  Owens  River  Aqueduct,  a  near  view^ 
giving  us  a  better  conception  of  the  giant  dimen- 
sions of  the  iron  and  cement  tubes  carrying  the 
water  supply  to  Los  Angeles.  From  Saugus  it  is  an 
easy  jaunt  of  thirty  miles  to  Los  Angeles  over  one 
of  the  finest  boulevards  leading  into  the  city. 

We  agreed  that  while  the  trip  over  the  "In- 
land Route"  from  Fresno  was  interesting  and  well 
w^orth  doing  once,  we  would  not  care  to  repeat  it 
under  such  conditions  except  upon  actual  necessity. 
When  we  are  ready  to  go  again  we  hope  to  find  that 
the  new  highway  has  replaced  the  terrible  old  trails 
which  served  for  roads  the  greater  part  of  the  five 
hundred  miles  of  the  run. 

In  the  foregoing  paragraphs  I  have  endeavored 
to  give  some  idea  of  our  earliest  run  over  the  Inland 
Route  in  the  good  old  days  when  California  roads 
were  in  their  virgin  state.  My  revisied  edition 
would  hardly  deserve  the  name  if  I  were  to  omit 
reference  to  the  present  condition  of  this  now  very 
popular  route  between  Los  Angeles  and  San  Fran- 
cisco, since  nearly  all  of  it  has  been  improved  and 
much  of  it  entirely  re-routed.  To-day  ( 1 92 1 )  prac- 
tically a  solid  paved  boulevard  extends  between  the 
two  cities  and  the  run  of  about  five  hundred  miles 
may  be  made  in  two  days  with  greater  ease  than  in 
twice  the  time  under  old  conditions. 

For  more  than  three-fourths  of  the  distance 
the  road  runs  in  level,  straight  stretches,  permitting 
all  the  speed  that  any  car  may  be  capable  of — if  the 
driver  is  willing  to  risk  his  neck  and  take  chances 

340 


A  CHAPTER  OF  ODDS  AND  ENDS 

of  falling  into  the  clutches  of  the  frequent  "speed 
cop"  along  the  way.  In  the  main  it  is  not  a  "scenic 
route" — though  one  is  never  out  of  sight  of  the 
mountains.  The  country  is  mostly  flat  and  uninter- 
esting— for  California — but  if  it  grows  too  monot- 
onous, Sherman  and  Grant  National  Parks  and 
Yosemite  are  only  a  few  miles  off  this  highway. 
There  are  excellent  hotels  at  Bakersfield,  Fresno, 
Merced,  Modesto,  and  Stockton,  and  very  good 
ones  in  several  smaller  places.  A  modern  hotel, 
the  Durant,  has  also  been  built  recently  at  Lebec, 
just  beyond  the  summit  near  the  northern  extrem- 
ity of  the  ridge.  Lake  Castaic,  near  by,  is  a  good- 
sized  body  of  water,  affording  opportunity  for  boat- 
ing and  fishing  and  there  is  much  w^ooded  country 
in  the  vicinity — attractions  which  will  doubtless 
make  the  Durant  a  popular  stopping-place  for 
motorists. 

The  road  is  redeemed  from  monotony,  how- 
ever, by  the  section  known  as  the  "Ridge  Route" 
between  Saugus  and  Bakersfield — thirty  miles  of 
the  most  spectacular  highway  in  California.  This 
superlative  feat  of  engineering  supersedes  the  old- 
time  Tejon  Pass  trail,  long  the  "bete  noir"  of  the 
Inland  Route.  It  cost  the  state  of  California  nearly 
a  million  dollars  to  fling  this  splendid  road  along 
the  crest  of  the  great  hill  range  that  must  needs  be 
crossed,  to  pave  it  with  solid  concrete,  and  to  ade- 
quately guard  its  many  abrupt  turns.  It  rises  from 
an  elevation  of  about  1000  feet  above  Saugus  to 
5300  feet  at  the  highest  point,  near  the  northern 
terminus  of  the  grade,  but  so  admirably  have  the 

341 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

engineers  done  their  work  that  nowhere  is  the  rise 
more  than  six  per  cent. 

No  description  or  picture  can  give  any  idea  of 
the  stupendous  grandeur  of  the  panorama  that  un- 
rolls before  one  as  he  traverses  this  marvelous  road. 
Vast  stretches  of  gigantic  hills  interspersed  with 
titanic  canyons — mostly  barren,  with  reds  and 
browns  predominating — outrun  the  limits  of  one's 
vision.  Nearer  Saugus  greenery  prevails  in  sum- 
mer and  at  the  northern  end  there  is  some  fine 
forest.  In  winter  snow  not  infrequently  falls 
throughout  the  entire  length  of  the  ridge  and  affords 
the  variation  of  a  dazzling  v/inter  spectacle  to  any- 
one hardy  enough  to  make  the  run,  which  is  rather 
dangerous  under  such  conditions. 

Any  extended  tour  of  California  must  surely 
include  the  Ridge  Route.  If  one  is  minus  a  car  of 
his  own  he  still  can  make  the  trip  quickly  and  com- 
fortably in  one  of  the  motor  stages  which  ply  daily 
between  Los  Angeles  and  Bakersfield.  At  the  San 
Francisco  end  of  the  Inland  Route  there  is  some 
pretty  hill  scenery  between  Stockton  and  Oakland, 
w^hich  has  been  referred  to  elsewhere  in  this  book. 
If  one  were  making  the  trip  between  San  Francisco 
and  Los  Angles  only  one  way,  there  would  need  be 
no  hesitancy  in  selecting  the  Coast  road,  on  the 
score  of  greater  scenic  beauty  and  historic  interest. 
If  he  should  be  seeking  the  easier  run  and  quicker 
time  he  w^ould  choose  the  Inland  Route.  If,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  average  tourist,  he  is  out  to  see  as 
much  of  California  as  possible  and  expects  to  make 
the  round  trip  between  north  and  south,  he  will 
naturally  go  by  one  route  and  return  by  the  other. 

342 


XVI 
OUR  RUN  TO  YOSEMITE 

No  extended  motor  tour  of  California  could 
lay  claim  to  thoroughness  if  Yosemite  Valley  and 
Lake  Tahoe  were  omitted  from  its  itinerary,  and  I 
therefore  avail  myself  of  the  opportunity  to  add 
chapters  giving  briefly  the  experience  of  our  runs 
to  these  popular  national  playgrounds. 

Yosemite  was  closed  to  automobiles  prior  to 
1915  and  it  w^as  only  through  the  strenuous  exer- 
tions of  the  Automobile  Club  of  Southern  Califor- 
nia that  the  authorities  finally  consented  to  remove 
the  ban.  The  decree  was  issued  apparently  with 
fear  and  hesitation  and  the  motorist  was  hedged 
about  with  restrictions  and  hampered  with  endless 
red  tape  regulations. 

The  dire  results  so  freely  predicted  did  not 
materialize  in  any  great  degree.  There  were  few 
serious  accidents  and  the  motors,  as  a  rule,  met  little 
difficulty  in  negotiating  the  roads  to  and  within  the 
park.  As  a  consequence  the  rules  have  been  re- 
laxed with  each  succeeding  year  and  many  of  the 
most  annoying  regulations  abandoned  or  reduced 
to  mere  formalities.  We  made  our  trip  in  Septem- 
ber of  the  Panama-Pacific  year,  and  during  the 
previous  months  of  the  season  nearly  two  thousand 
cars  had  preceded  us  into  the  park.  We  did  not 
have  to  demonstrate  that  "either  set  of  brakes 
would  lock  the  wheels  to  a  skid;"  in  fact,  I  am 

343 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

very  dubious  on  this  point.  We  did  not  have  to  get 
up  at  an  unearthly  hour  to  enter  or  leave  the  park 
and  the  time  schedule  imposed  on  us  was  so  reason- 
able that  none  but  the  speed  maniac  would  care  to 
exceed  it,  even  had  no  severe  penalty  been  attached. 

There  are  several  routes  by  which  one  may 
enter  and  leave  the  park  pending  the  happy  days 
longed  for  by  the  Auto  Club  when  a  broad,  smooth 
road — "no  grades  exceeding  five  per  cent" — shall 
convey  the  joyful  motorist  to  this  Earthly  Paradise 
of  the  Sierras.  You  can  go  from  Fresno  via  Coarse 
Gold,  from  Merced  via  Coulterville,  from  Stockton 
via  Chinese  Camp,  or  from  Madera  via  Raymond. 
You  can  now  even  reach  the  park  from  the  east  by 
the  new  Tioga  road,  branching  o£E  the  Sierra  High- 
way at  Mono  Lake,  should  you  be  seeking  the  wild- 
est and  most  difficult  route  of  all. 

We  decided,  after  an  extended  canvas  of  the 
pros  and  cons  of  the  matter,  to  make  our  initial 
venture  via  the  Madera  route,  returning  by  the  way 
of  Big  Oak  Flat  and  Stockton.  We  passed  the  night 
at  Fresno  and  left  Madera  late  in  the  afternoon  of 
the  following  day  with  the  intention  of  stopping 
for  the  night  at  Raymond,  some  twenty-five  miles 
distant.  However,  we  found  the  prospect  for  com- 
fortable quarters  in  that  forlorn-looking  little  ham- 
let so  unpromising  that  we  decided,  in  accordance 
with  a  genial  garage  man's  advice,  to  go  on  to  Mi- 
ami Lodge. 

"It's  only  thirty  miles,"  he  said;  "and  a  mighty 
comfortable  place ;  you  ought  to  reach  there  before 
it  gets  dark.  Shall  I  telephone  them  to  hold  dinner 
for  you?" 

344 


OUR  RUN  TO  YOSEMITE 

All  of  which  sounded  good  to  us  as  we  con- 
templated  prospective   accommodations     in     Ray- 
mond, and  with  a  speedy    acquiescence    we    were 
away  for  Miami  Lodge,     Ten  miles  per  hour,  said 
the  garage  man,  would  be  a  good  average  "for    a 
greenhorn"  over  the  road  we  were  to  traverse — a 
ridiculously  low  estimate,  we  thought,  but  we  had 
not  proceeded  far  before  we  agreed  w^ith  his  con- 
servatism.   A  narrow  and  exceedingly  tortuous  trail 
plunged  into  the  hills,  threading  its    way    among 
giant  pines   or  creeping  precariously  along   steep 
hillsides  and  around  abrupt  corners  deep  with  dust 
and  at  times  laboriously  steep.     Now^  and  then  it 
emerged  into  pleasant  little  glades  and  on  entering 
one  of  these  we  saw  a  young  mountain  lion  trotting 
leisurely  toward  the  thicket.     Of  course  our  small 
rifle  was  under  a  pile  of  baggage,  unloaded,  and  the 
cartridges  in  a  grip,  but  we  consoled  ourselves  with 
remarks  about  the  extreme  improbability  of  hitting 
him  even  if  w^e  had  the  gun. 

It  was  sunset  by  the  time  we  had  covered  little 
more  than  half  the  distance  and  while  we  regarded 
the  approaching  darkness  with  some  apprehension, 
for  the  road  showed  no  signs  of  improvement,  we 
forgot  it  all  in  our  admiration  for  the  enchanting 
scene.  Many  were  the  magnificent  vistas  opening 
through  the  pines  skirting  our  road  along  the  moun- 
tainside. Purple  hills  topped  with  dark  forests 
stretched  away  to  a  crimson  sky ;  shadowy  canyons 
sloped  far  beneath  us,  their  mysterious  deeps 
shrouded  in  a  soft  blue  haze.  It  was  a  constantly 
changing  yet  always  entrancing  picture  until    the 

color  faded  from  the  skies  and  the  canyons  were 

345 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

blotted  out  by  the  gathering  blackness.  Then  the 
road  demanded  our  undivided  attention,  for  we 
covered  the  last  ten  miles  in  pitch  darkness  and  our 
neglected  headlights  proved  in  very  poor  condition. 

The  Lodge  is  a  comfortable  rustic  inn  set  in 
the  pines  on  a  hillside  which  slopes  down  to  a  clear 
creek  dammed  at  one  point  into  a  small  lake.  The 
little  valley  forms  a  natural  amphitheater  surround- 
ed by  the  forest-clad  hills  and  is  altogether  a 
pleasant  and  restful  spot  well  away  from  noise  and 
disturbance  of  any  kind.  The  creek  is  stocked  with 
rainbow  trout  and  big  game  is  fairly  common — at- 
tractions which  bring  many  sportsmen  to  the  Lodge. 
It  is  easy  of  access  by  auto  stages  which  run  daily 
during  the  season. 

Beyond  Miami  Lodge  we  found  the  road  even 
more  trying  than  it  was  southward.  Heavy  grades 
and  sharp  turns  continued,  and  deep  dust  and 
rough  stretches  caused  much  discomfort.  We  met 
many  motor  trucks  and  several  heavy  wagons 
drawn  by  six  or  eight  horses,  which  made  ticklish 
w^ork  in  passing  on  the  narrow  grades  and  which 
stirred  up  clouds  of  yellow  dust.  As  the  sun 
mounted,  the  day  became  intolerably  hot,  making 
it  necessary  to  elevate  our  cape  top,  which  combined 
with  the  dust  to  interfere  with  our  view  of  the 
scenery. 

We  reached  Wawona,  at  the  park  entrance,  in 

time  for  the  noonday  luncheon  at  the  pleasant  old 

inn  which  has  been  the  haven    of    sightseers    for 

nearly  half  a  century.     It  is  delightfully  situated  in 

a  little  vale  amidst  a  group  of  towering  pines  and 

all  about  it  green  meadows    stretch    away    to    the 

346 


OUR  RUN  TO  YOSEMITE 

forest-clad  hills  that  surround  it  on  every  hand. 
Through  the  valley  runs  the  South  Merced,  famous 
for  its  mountain  trout,  a  delicacy  which  guests  at 
the  inn  sometimes  enjoy.  About  the  main  hotel 
building  are  scattered  several  isolated  cottages  for 
the  accommodation  of  guests  who  may  be  particular 
about  privacy  and  plenty  of  light  and  air.  There 
are  numerous  beautiful  drives  in  the  vicinity  aside 
from  the  Mariposa  Grove  trip.  One  of  these  fol- 
lows the  river  for  some  distance  and  another  makes 
a  circuit  of  the  valley. 

We  had  no  time  for  these,  as  we  were  intent 
upon  reaching  Yosemite  for  the  night  and  the  regu- 
lation is  that  you  check  in  at  the  final  station  by  six 
o'clock.  About  a  mile  from  Wawona  we  found  the 
cabin  of  the  ranger  who  issued  tickets  for  the  south 
entrance  to  the  park.  The  formalities  detained  us 
but  a  few  moments,  since,  with  the  great  influx  of 
motor  tourists  during  the  exposition  year,  much 
of  the  original  red  tape  was  dispensed  with.  A 
copy  of  the  rules  and  regulations  was  given  us  and 
the  time  of  our  entrance  was  stamped  upon  the 
ticket  to  be  delivered  to  the  superintendent  at  Yose- 
mite village.  The  action  of  our  small  rifle  was 
sealed  and,  with  a  friendly  caution  that  it  would  be 
unwise  to  exceed  the  limit,  w^e  were  ordered  to  pro- 
ceed. Knowing  something  of  the  trip  from  previ- 
ous experience  we  felt  no  uneasiness  about  exceed- 
ing the  two  hours  and  twenty-seven  minutes,  mini- 
mum time  allowed  for  covering  the  twenty-eight 
and  nine-tenths  miles  between  the  station  and 
Yosemite  garage.  No  one  but  a  confirmed  speed 
maniac  would  care  to  exceed  this  very  reasonable 

347 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

limit  and  anyone  wise  enough  to  admire  the  scenery 
along  the  road  as  it  deserves  to  be  admired  might 
well  consume  twice  the  minimum  time. 

For  some  miles  after  entering  the  park  we 
climbed  the  long,  steady  grade  following  the  South 
Merced  Canyon,  always  at  a  considerable  distance 
above  the  stream,  which  we  could  see  at  intervals 
through  the  pines,  flashing  over  its  rock-strewn 
bed.  There  was  scarcely  a  downward  dip  in  the 
road  for  the  first  half-dozen  miles,  and  we  could  not 
but  recall  the  distressing  efforts  of  the  horses  as 
they  toiled  painfully  upward  on  our  former  trip 
while  w^e  sat  disconsolately  enveloped  in  smother- 
ing clouds  of  dust.  What  a  contrast  we  found  in 
the  steady,  cheerful  hum  of  our  engine  as  it  drove 
our  car  onward  at  not  less  than  the  permitted  speed 
of  fifteen  miles,  leaving  the  dust  behind  us  and  af- 
fording unhindered  view^s  of  the  endless  panoramas 
of  canyons  and  hills.  Not  often,  even  in  California, 
w^ill  one  come  across  finer  individual  cedars,  sugar 
pines  and  yellow  pines  than  he  will  see  here — 
splendid,  arrow-straight  shafts  several  feet  in  cir- 
cumference, often  rising  to  a  height  of  two  or  even 
three  hundred  feet.  It  is  pleasant  to  think  that  they 
are  immune  from  the  lumberman's  ax  and  guarded 
carefully  against  devastating  fires.  We  paused  at 
times  in  the  shade  of  these  forest  Titans  and  con- 
templated the  wide  range  of  hills  and  valleys 
beyond  the  canyon — particularly  at  Lookout  Point, 
some  seven  or  eight  miles  from  Wawona.  Here  w^e 
beheld  a  seemingly  endless  panorama  of  forest-clad 
hills  stretching  away  until  lost  in  the  infinite  dis- 
tance of  the  lucent  afternoon.    Once  before  we  had 

348 


OUR  RUN  TO  YOSEMITE 

beheld  the  same  scene — at  sunset,  the  hills  shrouded 
in  an  amethyst  haze,  the  valleys  dim  with  purple 
shadows,  and  the  sky  resplendent  with  crimson  and 
gold.  Nothing  could  have  shown  more  impressive- 
ly the  w^onderful  variations  of  the  same  landscape 
at  different  hours  of  the  day  or  proved  more  com- 
pletely that  one  must  come  many  times  to  see  the 
beauty  of  Yosemite. 

Continuing  a  few  miles  farther  we  came  to  the 
top  of  the  grade  leading  down  into  the  valley.  We 
recalled  it  as  a  stiff,  strenuous  road,  winding  around 
sharp  curves  and  often  along  the  edge  of  sheer 
precipices  which  gave  us  many  thrills  from  our  high 
perch  beside  the  driver  of  our  four-in-hand.  We 
had  traversed  mountain  roads  so  much  worse  in 
the  meanwhile  that  Wawona  grade  really  seemed 
quite  tame  from  a  motor  car  and  even  the  ladies 
took  only  languid  interest  in  its  twists  and  turns. 
We  paused  for  the  third  time  at  Inspiration  Point 
and  we  can  not  help  envying  those  who  are  so 
fortunate  as  to  come  into  Yosemite  by  this  road  and 
thus  get  their  first  glimpse  of  the  valley  from  In- 
spiration Point.  Perhaps  the  view^  from  Glacier 
Point  is  as  glorious  but  one  is  not  likely  to  come 
upon  it  so  suddenly  and  is  somehow  expecting 
stupendous  things,  but  Inspiration  Point  bursts  on 
the  wayfarer  from  the  Wawona  all  unaware  and  he 
sees  unfold  before  him  almost  in  an  instant  all  the 
marvelous  sights  that  have  made  Yosemite  a 
w^orld's  wonder. 

It  is  the  third  time  we  have  viewed  this  won- 
derful scene  and  we  have  been  fortunate  in  coming 

each  time  at  a  different  period  of  the  day — morn- 

349 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

ing  and  evening  and  early  afternoon.  Each  has 
shown  us  a  different  phase  of  the  beauty  of  Yosem- 
ite,  for  the  variation  of  Hght  and  consequent 
changes  of  coloring  have  everything  to  do  with  the 
view  from  Inspiration  Point. 

We  proceeded  slowly  and  cautiously  down  the 
steep  switchbacks  leading  to  the  floor  of  the  Valley, 
a  long,  low-gear  grind,  for  regulations  forbid  dis- 
engaging gears  on  roads  in  the  park.  The  descent 
did  not  seem  nearly  so  precarious  as  when  we  first 
made  it  in  the  regulation  coach-and-four — the  road 
appeared  to  have  been  widened  at  the  turns;  may- 
be this  was  only  in  our  imagination,  due  to  greater 
familiarity  with  mountain  roads.  We  were  enough 
at  our  ease  to  enjoy  the  splendid  vistas  of  the  valley 
and  mountains  which  were  presented  from  a 
hundred  viewpoints  as  we  slowly  descended,  some- 
thing that  we  hardly  did  the  first  time.  Nor  did  the 
time  seem  so  long,  though  1  really  doubt  if  we  went 
down  so  quickly  as  our  dashing  driver  piloted  his 
coach-and-four  over  this  three-mile  grade  on  our 
first  trip.  We  soon  found  ourselves  on  the  floor  of 
the  valley  with  Bridal  Veil  Falls  waving  like  a 
gossamer  thread  above  us — it  was  in  September 
and  the  waterfalls  were  all  at  lowest  ebb.  The  four 
miles  along  the  floor  to  Yosemite  was  a  joy  ride 
indeed  and  we  felt  no  desire  to  infringe  the  low 
speed  limit  imposed  on  motor  cars.  What  though 
we  had  seen  this  wondrous  array  of  stupendous 
cliffs,  domes,  pinnacles  and  towers  many  times  be- 
fore, familiarity  does  not  detract  from  their  over- 
powering majesty  and  changeful  beauty. 

Our  excuse  for  a  third  visit  to  Yosemite  was 
350 


VKKNAL,  FALLS,   YOSEMITE 
From  Original   Painting-  by  Chris.   Jorgenson 


OUR  RUN  TO  YOSEMITE 

chiefly  that  we  wanted  to  go  by  motor  car ;  we  had 
seen  most  of  the  sights  and  made  most  of  the  trail 
trips  and  drives,  so  there  was  little  to  do  but  lounge 
about  in  the  hotel  and  vicinity  for  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon.  I  visited  the  garage,  which  was  merely 
a  huge  tent  with  open  sides  where  the  cars  were 
parked  in  care  of  an  attendant.  There  was  ap- 
parently a  very  good  machine  shop  which  seemed 
to  have  plenty  of  work,  for  break-downs  are  not 
uncommon.  The  manager  asked  us  if  we  would 
favor  him  by  carrying  a  new  axle  to  a  motorist  who 
w^as  laid  up  at  Crane  Flat,  near  the  entrance  to  the 
park  on  the  road  by  which  we  expected  to  leave  the 
next  morning. 

The  regulations  require  that  motor  cars  leave 
by  the  Big  Oak  Flat  road  between  6 :  00  A.  M.  and 
4:00  P.  M.,  and  the  first-named  hour  found  us 
ready  for  departure,  as  we  had  been  warned  that 
a  strenuous  day's  work  lay  before  us.  It  is  only 
one  hundred  and  twenty-three  miles  to  Stockton; 
hence  w^e  concluded  that  the  strenuousness  must 
be  due  to  something  besides  long  distance — a  sur- 
mise which  we  did  not  have  to  wait  long  to  verify. 
About  two  miles  from  the  hotel,  following  the 
main  valley  road,  we  came  to  a  sign,  "Big  Oak  Flat 
Route,"  and  turned  sharply  to  the  right,  crossing 
the  Merced  River.  Immediately  we  began  a  sharp 
ascent  over  a  dusty  trail  through  thickly  standing 
pines. 

Coming  out  of  the  trees  we  find  ourselves  on 
a  narrow  road  cut  in  the  side  of  the  almost  perpen- 
dicular cliff.     It  is  fair  at  first,  screened  from  the 

precipitous  drop  alongside  by  a    row    of    massive 

351 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

boulders  which  have  the  psychological  effect  of 
making  us  feel  much  more  at  ease,  though  I  doubt 
if  they  would  be  of  much  use  in  stopping  a  runaway 
car.  Nevertheless,  they  are  a  decided  factor  in 
enabling  us  to  enjoy  the  wonderful  views  of  moun- 
tain and  valley  that  present  themselves  to  our  eager 
eyes  as  we  slowly  climb  the  steep  ascent.  We  are 
sure  that  we  see  many  vistas  quite  equal  to  the  view 
from  the  much-vaunted  Inspiration  Point,  but  they 
are  not  so  famous  because  far  less  accessible. 

The  road  grows  rougher  and  dustier  as  we 
climb  slowly  upward ;  the  boulder  balustrade  disap- 
pears and  we  find  ourselves  on  a  narrow  shelf,  with 
infrequent  passing  places,  running  along  the  edge 
of  a  cliff  that  falls  almost  sheer  beneath  us.  We 
pause  occasionally  to  contemplate  the  marvelous 
scene  beneath.  The  whole  floor  of  the  valley  is 
now  visible;  its  giant  trees  seem  mere  shrubs  and 
the  Merced  dwindles  to  a  silver  thread;  across  the 
narrow  chasm  w^e  now^  look  down  on  the  Cathedral 
Spires,  the  Three  Sisters,  and  Sentinel  Rock;  we  see 
Bridal  Veil  Fall  swaying  like  a  gossamer  against 
the  mighty  cliff,  and  beyond  we  have  an  endless 
vista  of  forest-clad  mountains.  Three  thousand 
feet  above  the  valley  we  enter  a  forest  of  mighty 
pines;  the  road  winds  among  them  in  sharp  turns 
and  the  grades  are  very  steep  and  deep  with  dust. 
We  are  not  very  familiar  with  our  car,  which  we 
leased  from  a  Los  Angeles  dealer,  and  as  w^e  near 
the  summit  the  motor  loses  power  and  can  not  be 
cajoled  into  propelling  the  car  over  the  last  steep, 
dusty  pitch.  After  an  hour  of  fruitless  effort  we 
appealed  to  the  foreman  of    a    road    gang    w^hich, 

352 


NEVAPA  i''ALi>,   V(jsi';.M  rri': 

From    Original     I'ainting     by     H.     H.     Kagg 


OUR  RUN  TO  YOSEMITE 

fortunately  for  us,  was  at  work  close  by,  and  he 
helped  the  balky  engine  out  with  a  stout  team  of 
horses. 

"What's  the  damage?"  w^e  gratefully  asked  of 
our  rescuer. 

"Just  a  bottle  of  whiskey,  stranger,  if  you 
happen  to  have  one  along." 

We  expressed  regret  at  our  inability  to  meet 
the  very  modest  request  and  our  friend  had  to  be 
content  with  coin  of  the  realm  instead.  Later  on 
an  auto  expert  told  us  that  the  carburetor  on  this 
particular  car  w^ill  not  work  satisfactorily  at  an  ele- 
vation of  seven  thousand  feet. 

Crane  Flat  is  nothing  more  than  the  ranger 
station  on  the  road  and  the  official  took  up  our 
"time  card" — we  came  by  a  safe  margin  of  two  or 
three  hours — and  removed  the  seals  from  our 
"game-getter."  We  delivered  the  axle  entrusted  to 
our  care,  but  found  that  the  owner  of  the  broken- 
down  car  had  accepted  the  situation  philosophically 
and  gone  fishing — his  third  day  of  this  pleasant 
pastime,  while  waiting  for  repairs. 

Two  or  three  miles  from  Crane  Flat  w^e  came 
to  the  Tuolumne  Grove  of  Big  Trees,  where  there 
are  numerous  giant  redwoods,  though  not  so  many 
or  so  huge  as  those  of  Mariposa.  A  short  detour 
from  the  main  route  took  us  to  the  Dead  Giant,  the 
most  remarkable  tree  of  this  grove.  It  is  tunneled 
like  the  Wawona  tree  in  Mariposa  and  we  had  the 
sensation  a  second  time  of  driving  through  a  red- 
wood. The  remains  of  the  Dead  Giant  are  one 
hundred  feet  high  and  one  hundred  and  five  feet  in 

circumference;    scientists    estimate    that    the    tree 

353 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

must  have  been  at  least  forty  feet  in  diameter  and 
perhaps  four  hundred  feet  high — larger  and  higher 
than  any  redwood  now  living.  It  was  destroyed 
perhaps  three  hundred  years  ago  by  fire  or  light- 
ning. The  General  Lawton  of  this  grove  is  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  redwoods  in  existence  and  there 
is  also  a  Fallen  Giant  still  grow^ing  greenly  although 
lying  prone,  its  roots  not  being  entirely  severed. 

It  was  lunch  time  when  w^e  reached  Sequoia, 
though  we  were  only  twenty-nine  miles  from 
Yosemite — a  pretty  insignificant  showing  for  a  half- 
day's  run,  from  a  mileage  point  of  view,  but  it  had 
been  strenuous  enough  to  make  us  tired  and  raven- 
ously hungry.  And  hunger  proved  a  very  good 
sauce  for  the  meal  which  we  got  at  Crockers'  Hotel, 
w^hich  is  about  all  there  is  of  Sequoia.  And  I  am 
not  complaining  of  Crocker's  Hotel,  either.  I  think 
they  did  very  well  when  one  considers  that  all  their 
supplies  must  be  hauled  eighty  miles  by  wagon 
road — naturally,  canned  stuff  and  condensed  milk 
prevailed. 

Beyond  Crocker's  the  characteristics  of  the 
country  were  about  the  same.  A  rough,  dusty  trail, 
w^inding  through  pine-clad  hills  with  occasional 
heavy  grades,  carried  us  along  for  a  good  many 
miles.  We  occasionally  passed  a  remote  little  sta- 
tion w^ith  a  general  store  and  "garage"  bearing  evi- 
dence of  its  origin  in  an  old-time  blacksmith  shop. 
Colfax  Gate,  Smith's,  Garrett,  and  Big  Oak  Flat — 
which  showed  little  reason  for  the  distinction  of 
giving  its  name  to  the  road — ^were  all  the  same  type, 
with  nothing  to  invite  even  a  casual  glance  from 
the  tourist  unless  he  needed  gasoline  or  oil. 

354 


OUR  RUN  TO  YOSEMITE 

At  Priest's  there  is  a  country  hotel,  a  haunt  of 
hunters  and  ranchmen ;  but  we  recall  Priest's  chiefly 
because  it  gives  its  name  to  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful bits  of  road  engineering  in  California.  It  fol- 
lows the  very  crest  of  a  giant  hill  range  overlooking 
a  beautiful  valley  some  two  or  three  thousand  feet 
below.  Alongside  there  is  nothing  to  break  the  full 
sw^eep  of  one's  vision — not  a  tree  or  even  a  shrub 
intervenes  between  the  roadbed  and  the  precipitous 
slope  beneath.  Although  the  road  is  wide  enough 
for  easy  passing  at  any  point,  the  very  baldness  of 
its  outer  edge  is  enough  to  give  a  decided  thrill  to 
nervously  inclined  people  and  our  driver  received 
more  advice  and  caution  from  the  rear  seat  than 
had  been  offered  him  on  far  more  dangerous  roads 
with  occasional  rocks  or  trees  alongside. 

At  Jacksonville  the  road  comes  down  almost 
to  the  level  of  the  Tuolumne  River  and  we  found 
ourselves  on  the  border  of  the  old  gold-mining  re- 
gion made  famous  by  the  tales  of  Bret  Harte. 
There  are  still  several  placer  mines  in  operation 
along  the  river — the  road  passes  a  very  large  one 
at  the  foot  of  Chinese  Camp  grade,  and  the  river  is 
sullied  for  miles  by  the  muddy  washings  from  the 
mill.  Chinese  Camp  grade  is  one  of  the  worst  en- 
countered on  our  entire  trip ;  it  is  steep  and  terribly 
rough,  and  dust  a  foot  deep  hides  the  ruts  and 
chuck  holes,  so  we  were  compelled  to  "go  it  blind." 
It  was  a  four-mile  plunge  and  scramble  around 
sharp  curves, — ^half  smothered  and  blinded  by  dense 
dust  clouds  which  rose  before  we  could  get  away 
from    them,    we    made    slow    progress    over    the 

dreadful  road.     At  the  hilltop,  however,  we  were 

355 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

rewarded  for  our  strenuous  scramble  by  a  magnifi- 
cent view  of  the  river  canyon  and  a  w^ide  pano- 
rama of  forest-clad  hills  with  the  emerald  thread  of 
the  Tuolumne  winding  through  them. 

A  short  distance  over  a  stony  trail  brought  us 
into  the  main  street  of  Chinese  Camp,  if  we  may  so 
designate  the  w^ide,  dusty  section  of  road  lined  w^ith 
w^ooden  shacks  of  which  every  other  one  seemed  a 
saloon.  The  appearance  of  the  buildings  warranted 
the  guess  on  our  part  that  there  has  been  little 
change  in  this  primitive  hamlet  since  Bret  Harte 
visited  it,  nearly  a  half  century  ago.  Not  far  from 
here  are  many  other  camps  and  villages  which 
found  enduring  fame  in  the  stories  of  this  most 
representative  of  all  earlier  California  writers. 
Sonora,  Angel's  Camp,  Tuttletown,  San  Andreas, 
Mokelumne,  and  other  places  familiar  in  Harte's 
pages  may  all  be  reached  in  a  detour  of  fifty  miles 
or  so  from  the  Big  Oak  Flat  road.  Most  of  these 
towns,  like  Chinese  Camp,  have  made  little  progress 
since  they  were  mirrored  in  the  tales  which  ap- 
peared in  the  old  Overland  and  Argonaut  of  San 
Francisco. 

Beyond  Chinese  Camp  we  encountered  the 
w^orst  stretch  of  road  of  the  entire  day — a  mere  trail 
winding  through  a  rough,  boulder-strewn  country 
seemingly  having  no  end  or  object  in  view  except 
to  avoid  the  rocks  too  large  to  run  over.  No  effort 
had  been  made  to  remove  the  smaller  stones  from 
the  way  and  we  had  an  unmerciful  jolting,  although 
we  crawled  along  at  a  dozen  miles  per  hour.  For- 
tunately, there  are  no  steep  grades,  and  occasional- 
ly smoother  stretches  afforded  a  little  respite.     It 

356 


OUR  RUN  TO  YOSEMITE 

would  be  hard  to  use  language,  however,  that  would 
exaggerate  the  relief  which  we  felt  when,  on  ascend- 
ing a  sharp  little  rise,  we  came  upon  a  splendid 
paved  highway  which  the  road-book  declared  would 
continue  all  the  way  to  Stockton.  I  think  that  the 
last  forty  miles  into  the  city  consumed  less  time 
than  any  ten  miles  we  had  covered  since  leaving 
Yosemite  that  morning. 

We  certainly  presented  a  somew^hat  dis- 
reputable appearance  when  we  came  into  the  town. 
The  car  and  everything  about  it,  including  the  oc- 
cupants, was  dirty  gray  with  dust,  which  I  noted 
was  two  inches  deep  on  the  running  boards  and 
perhaps  a  little  less  on  our  faces,  w^hile  it  saturated 
our  clothing  and  covered  our  baggage.  California 
hotels,  however,  are  used  to  such  arrivals  and  we 
were  well  taken  care  of  at  the  Stockton,  despite 
our  unprepossessing  appearance.  A  thorough 
cleaning  up,  a  change  of  raiment  and  a  good  din- 
ner put  us  at  peace  with  the  world  and  we  were 
soon  exchanging  felicitations  over  the  fact  that  we 
had  done  Yosemite  by  motor  car. 


357 


XVII 

LAKE  TAHOE 

There  are  two  routes  out  of  Sacramento  to 
Lake  Tahoe  which  carry  fully  nine-tenths  of  the 
motor  travel  to  that  interesting  region.  Both  tra- 
verse a  picturesque  mountain  country  with  a  spice 
of  historic  and  romantic  interest  and  most  motor 
visitors,  naturally  enough,  go  by  one  route  and 
return  by  the  other.  Our  first  visit  to  the  lake  was 
made  over  the  northern  fork  of  the  "wishbone" 
(as  they  usually  style  the  forked  road)  via  Colfax 
and  Emigrant  Gap.  For  personal  reasons  we  did 
not  complete  the  round  trip  at  the  time  of  our  first 
visit,  but  a  year  later  found  us  again  enroute  to  the 
gem  of  mountain  lakes  over  the  southern  fork  by 
way  of  Placerville.  I  shall  describe  the  two  trips 
in  order  of  their  chronology.  In  each  instance  we 
passed  the  night  in  Sacramento — the  best  starting 
point  for  the  day's  run  to  Tahoe,  the  distance  being 
about  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  by  either 
route.  It  is  well  to  get  an  early  start,  whichever 
route  is  taken,  for  the  road  will  not  admit  of  speed 
and  there  are  many  points  w^here  a  pause  is  w^ell 
worth  while.  And  so  we  were  away  bright  and 
early  on  the  Auburn  road  to  the  lake. 

Out  of  the  city  for  several  miles  through    a 

fertile    orchard    and    farm  country,  we  pursued  a 

level,  well-improved  road  which  led  us  toward  the 

great  hill  range  that  marks  the  western  confines  of 

358 


LAKE  TAHOE 

the  valley.  Entering  the  rounded  brown  foothills, 
we  kept  a  steady  ascent  through  scattering  groves 
of  oak  and  pine,  with  here  and  there  along  the  way 
a  well-ordered  stock  farm  or  fruit  ranch.  It  was  in 
the  height  of  the  peach  season  and  a  sign  at  a  ranch 
house  gate  tempted  us  to  purchase.  A  silver  dime 
brought  us  such  a  quantity  of  big,  luscious,  rosy- 
cheeked  fruit  that  we  scarcely  knew  where  to  be- 
stow it  about  the  car.  It  was  just  off  the  tree  and 
ripe  to  perfection,  and  by  comparison  with  the  very 
best  one  could  buy  in  a  fruit  market,  it  seemed  a 
new  and  unheard-of  variety — ambrosia  fit  only  for 
the  gods.  And  they  told  us  that  so  immense  was 
the  crop  of  peaches  and  pears  in  this  locality  that 
some  of  this  unequalled  fruit  was  being  fed  to  the 
pigs. 

Following  a  winding  but  fair  road  through  the 
hills,  we  soon  came,  as  we  supposed,  into  the  main 
part  of  Auburn,  for  we  had  taken  no  pains  to  learn 
anything  about  the  town.  At  the  foot  of  a  sharp 
hill  we  paused  in  a  crooked  street  with  a  row  of 
ramshackle  buildings  on  either  side  and  it  was  ap- 
parent at  a  glance  that  the  population  of  the 
ancient-looking  town  was  chiefly  Chinese.  A  few 
saloons  and  one  or  two  huge  wooden  boarding 
houses  were  the  most  salient  features  and  a  small 
blacksmith  shop  near  the  end  of  the  street  was 
labeled  "Garage."  We  mentally  classed  "Sweet 
Auburn"  with  Chinese  Camp  and  following  the 
road  leading  out  of  the  place  began  the  ascent  of 
an  exceedingly  steep  hill.  At  the  summit  of  the 
hill,  however,  we  found  quite  a  different  Auburn-^ 
a  fine  modern  town  with  a  handsome  courthouse, 

359 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

an  imposing  high  school  and  a  new  bank  building 
that  would  not  seem  out  of  place  on  any  city  street. 
All  this  in  a  town  of  less  than  three  thousand  popu- 
lation. Nor  should  I  omit  to  mention  the  com- 
fortable up-to-date  hotel  where  we  had  a  very  satis- 
factory luncheon. 

Beyond  Auburn  the  road  climbs  steadily  to 
Colfax,  a  few^  short  pitches  ranging  from  fifteen  to 
twenty  per  cent.  The  surface  w^as  good  and  we 
were  delighted  by  many  fine  vistas  from  the  hilltops 
as  we  hastened  along.  At  Applegate  was  a  deserted 
hotel  and  "tent  city"  said  to  be  very  popular  resorts 
earlier  in  the  summer.  Colfax  w^as  the  Illinois 
Town  of  mining  times  and  still  has  many  buildings 
dating  back  to  the  "days  of  gold."  The  town  was 
given  its  present  name  when  the  steam  road  came 
and  it  is  now^  a  center  of  considerable  activity  in 
railroading.  There  is  much  beautiful  scenery  about 
Colfax.  From  the  nearby  summits  across  long 
reaches  of  forest-clad  hills,  one  may  see  on  one  hand 
the  mighty  ranks  of  the  snow^  crested  Sierras  and 
on  the  other  the  dim  outlines  of  the  Coast  Range. 
On  exceptionally  clear  days,  they  told  us,  the  shin- 
ing cone  of  Shasta  may  be  seen,  though  it  is  more 
than  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away. 

Out  of  Colfax  we  continue  to  climb  steadily 

and  soon  come  upon  reminders  of  the  days  when 

this  was  one  of  the  greatest  gold-producing  sections 

of  California.     The  hillsides  everywhere  show  the 

scars  of  old-time  placer  mining.      Millions  of  the 

precious  metal  were  produced  here  in  the  few  years 

following  '49,  but  operations  have  long  since  ceased 

and  the  deserted  villages  are  fast  falling  into  ruin. 

360 


LAKE  TAHOE 

Dutch  Flat  and  Gold  Run,  now  stations  on  the 
Southern  Pacific,  could  no  doubt  have  furnished 
Bret  Harte  with  characters  and  incidents  quite  as 
varied  and  picturesque  as  Angel's  Camp  or  Sonora 
had  his  wanderings  brought  him  hither.  For  the 
disappearance  of  the  good  old  golden  days,  the 
natives  console  themselves  in  this  fashion,  quoting 
advertising  literature  issued  by  Placer  County:  "In 
days  gone  by  the  gold  mining  industry  made  this 
section  famous.  To-day  the  golden  fruit  brings 
it  wealth  and  renown."  And  it  also  holds  forth  the 
hope  that  scientific  mining  methods  may  yet  find 
"much  gold  in  the  old  river  beds  and  seams  of  gold- 
bearing  rock." 

From  Dutch  Flat  to  Emigrant  Gap,  perhaps  a 
dozen  miles,  the  road  climbs  continually,  winding 
through  pine  forests  that  crowd  closely  on  either 
hand.  Here  is  one  of  the  wildest  sections  of  the 
Sierras  accessible  to  motor  cars,  and  the  w^eird 
beauty  culminates  at  Emigrant  Gap,  a  great  natural 
gash  in  the  Sierras  which  in  early  days  gave  its 
name  to  the  road  by  which  the  majority  of  overland 
emigrants  entered  California.  Near  this  point,  a 
little  distance  to  the  right  of  the  road  and  some  two 
thousand  feet  beneath,  lies  Bear  Valley,  one  of  the 
loveliest  vales  of  the  Sierras — in  early  summer  an 
emerald-green  meadow — lying  between  Yuba 
River  and  Bear  Creek,  shut  in  on  every  hand  by 
tree-clad  slopes.  From  Emigrant  Gap  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  divide,  a  distance  of  twenty-seven  miles, 
the  road  mounts  steadily  through  the  pines,  wind- 
ing around  abrupt  turns  and  climbing  heavy  grades 

— the  last  pitch  rising  to  thirty  per  cent,  according 

361 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

to  our  road  book,  though  we  doubt  if  it  is  really  so 
steep.  Crystal  Lake  and  Lake  Van  Orten  are 
passed  on  the  way,  two  blue  mountain  tarns  lying 
far  below  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  road.  From 
the  summit,  at  an  elevation  of  a  little  over  seven 
thousand  feet,  we  have  a  wonderful  view  both 
eastward  and  westward.  Behind  us  the  rugged 
hills  through  which  we  have  wended  our  way  slope 
gently  to  the  Sacramento  Valley — so  gently  that 
in  the  one  hundred  miles  since  leaving  the  plain  we 
have  risen  only  a  mile  and  a  half.  Before  us  is  the 
sharper  fall  of  the  eastern  slope  and  far  beneath, 
in  a  setting  of  green  sward  and  stately  pines,  the 
placid  blue  waters  of  Donner  Lake,  beautiful  des- 
pite the  tragic  associations  which  come  unbidden 
to  our  minds. 

The  descent  from  the  summit  of  the  divide  to 
Truckee  is  gradual,  some  twelve  hundred  feet  in 
nine  miles,  though  there  are  a  few  short,  steep 
grades  of  from  fifteen  to  twenty  per  cent,  according 
to  our  authority.  It  was  dark  when  we  reached 
Truckee,  but  as  there  was  no  chance  of  going  astray 
on  the  road  to  Tahoe  Tavern,  we  determined  to 
proceed.  The  road  for  the  entire  distance  of  fifteen 
miles  closely  follows  the  Truckee  River,  a  swift, 
shallow  stream  fed  from  the  limpid  waters  of  Lake 
Tahoe.  It  was  a  glorious  moonlight  night  and  the 
gleaming  river,  the  jagged  hills  on  either  hand,  and 
the  dark  pine  forests,  all  combined  to  make  a  wild 
but  entrancingly  beautiful  effect.  As  we  later  saw 
the  Truckee  Canyon  by  daylight,  we  have  every 
reason  to  be  glad  that  we  traversed  it  by  moonlight 
as  well. 

362 


LAKE  TAHOE 

Tahoe  Tavern,  with  its  myriad  lights,  was  a 
welcome  sight,  none  the  less,  after  an  exceedingly 
strenuous  trip,  the  personal  details  of  which  I  have 
forborne  to  inflict  upon  the  reader.  We  were  given 
rooms  in  the  nev/  annex,  a  f  rame-and-shingle  build- 
ing, and  were  delighted  to  find  that  our  windows 
opened  upon  the  moonlit  lake.  The  mountain  tops 
on  the  opposite  shore  w^ere  shrouded  in  heavy 
clouds  through  which  the  moon  struggled  at  inter- 
vals, transmuting  the  clear,  still  surface  of  the  lake 
from  a  dark,  dull  mirror  to  a  softly  lighted  sheet  of 
water  with  a  path  of  gleaming  silver  running  across 
it.  Directly  a  thunder  storm  broke  over  the  eastern 
shore — very  uncommon  in  summer,  we  were  told 
— and  we  had  the  spectacle  of  clouds  and  lake 
lighted  weirdly  by  flashes  of  lightning.  The 
thunder  rolling  among  the  peaks  and  across  the 
w^ater  brought  vividly  to  our  minds  Byron's  descrip- 
tion of  a  thunder  storm  on  Lake  Geneva  in  the 
Alps.  For  a  short  time  it  seemed  as  if  "every 
mountain  peak  had  found  a  tongue,"  but  the  storm 
died  away  without  crossing  the  lake. 

Tahoe  Tavern,  a  huge,  brow^n,  rambling  build- 
ing in  a  fine  grove  of  pines,  fronts  directly  on  a 
little  bay  and  commands  a  glorious  outlook  of  lake 
and  distant  mountains.  It  is  a  delightfully  retired 
and  quiet  place,  ideal  for  rest  and  recuperation, 
while  the  surrounding  country  is  unmatched  in 
scenic  attractions  for  those  inclined  to  exploration, 
whether  by  steamer,  motor,  horseback,  or  afoot. 
We  found  the  service  and  the  cuisine  equal  to  the 
best  resort  hotels  in  California — and  that  is  saying 

a  great  deal,  since  California  in  this  particular  leads 

363 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

the  world.  Here  we  found  a  quiet  yet  exhilarating 
spot,  the  toil  and  tumult  of  the  busy  w^orld  shut 
out  by  impregnable  mountain  barriers,  where  one 
may  repose  and  commune  w^ith  nature  in  her  grand- 
est and  most  enchanting  aspects. 

Our  car,  w^hich  we  had  hired  from  a  Los  An- 
geles dealer,  had  proved  so  unsatisfactory  that  we 
decided  to  defer  the  various  drives  about  the  lake 
until  a  subsequent  visit.  We  therefore  contented 
ourselves  w^ith  a  series  of  walks  around  the  tavern 
and  the  boat  excursions  about  the  lake.  It  was  only 
a  little  more  than  a  year  later  that  we  found  our- 
selves again  in  Sacramento  bound  to  Tahoe  over 
the  Placerville  route.  We  had  discarded  our 
trouble-making  hired  car  for  our  own  trusty  Pierce 
forty-eight,  which  in  thousands  of  miles  of  moun- 
tain touring  caused  us  never  a  moment's  trouble  or 
delay. 

Out  of  Sacramento  we  follow^ed  the  new^  state 
highway,  then  almost  completed  to  Placerville.  On 
the  way  to  Folsom  we  saw  much  of  gold  mining 
under  modern  conditions.  Monstrous  floating 
steam  dredges  were  eating  their  w^ay  through  the 
fields  and  for  miles  had  thrown  up  great  ridges  of 
stones  and  gravel  from  w^hich  the  gold  had  been 
extracted  by  a  process  of  w^ashing.  Something  less 
than  two  million  dollars  annually  is  produced  in 
Sacramento  County,  mainly  by  this  process,  and 
the  cobblestones,  after  being  crushed  by  pow^erful 
machinery,  serve  the  very  useful  purpose  of  road- 
building.  Beyond  Folsom  the  highway  winds 
through  uninteresting    hills    covered    with    short 

brown   grass   and  diversified  with   occasional   oak 

364 


LAKE  TAHOE 

trees.  We  kept  a  pretty  steady  upward  trend  as  we 
sped  toward  the  blue  hill  ranges,  but  there  were  no 
grades  worth  mentioning  west  of  Placerville.  Be- 
fore we  reached  the  town  we  entered  the  splendid 
pine  forest,  which  continues  all  the  way  to  Tahoe. 
Placerville  has  little  to  recall  its  old-time  sobri- 
quet of  Hangtown,  by  which  it  figures  in  Bret 
Harte's  stories.  Here,  indeed,  was  the  very  storm 
center  of  the  early  gold  furor — but  five  miles  to 
the  north  is  Coloma,  where  Marshall  picked  up  the 
nugget  that  turned  the  eyes  of  the  world  to  Cali- 
fornia in  '49.  Over  the  very  road  which  we  were 
to  pursue  out  of  the  town  poured  the  living  tide  of 
gold  seekers  which  spread  out  through  all  the  sur- 
rounding country.  To-day,  however,  Placerville 
depends  little  on  mining;  its  narrow,  crooked  main 
street  and  a  few  ancient  buildings  are  the  only  re- 
minders of  its  old-time  rough-and-tumble  existence. 
It  is  a  prosperous  town  of  three  thousand  people, 
and  handsome  homes  with  well-kept  lawns  are  not 
uncommon.  We  also  noted  a  splendid  new^  court- 
house of  Spanish  colonial  design  wrought  in  white 
marble,  a  fine  example  of  the  public  spirit  that  pre- 
vails in  even  the  more  retired  California  communi- 
ties. The  site  of  the  town  is  its  greatest  drawback. 
Wedged  as  it  is  in  the  bottom  of  a  vast  canyon, 
there  is  little  possibiltiy  of  regularity  in  streets  and 
much  work  has  been  necessary  to  prepare  sites  for 
home  and  public  buildings.  A  certain  picturesque- 
ness  and  delightful  informality  compensates  for  all 
this  and  the  visitor  is  sure  to  be  pleased  with  the 
Placerville  of  to-day  aside  from  its  romantic  history. 

Two  fairly  comfortable  hotels  invite  the  traveler  to 

365 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

stop  and  make  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
town,  which  a  recent  writer  declares  is  noted  for  its 
charming  women — an  attraction  which  it  lacked  in 
its  romantic  mining  days. 

Beyond  Placerville  the  road  climbs  steadily, 
winding  through  the  giant  hills  and  finally  crossing 
the  American  River,  which  we  followed  for  many 
miles — now  far  above  with  the  green  stream  gleam- 
ing through  the  pines  and  again  coursing  along  its 
very  banks.  There  are  many  deciduous  trees 
among  the  evergreens  on  these  hills  and  the  au- 
tumn coloring  lent  a  striking  variation  to  the  som- 
ber green  of  the  pines.  We  had  never  before 
realized  that  there  were  so  many  species  besides 
conifers  on  the  California  mountains.  Maples  and 
aspens  were  turning  yellow^  and  crimson  and  many 
species  of  vines  and  creepers  lent  brilliant  color 
dashes  to  the  scene.  There  was  much  indeed  to 
compensate  for  the  absence  of  the  flowers  which 
bloom  in  profusion  earlier  in  the  season. 

Georgetown,  some  forty  miles  above  Placer- 
ville, is  the  only  town  worthy  of  the  name  between 
the  latter  place  and  Tahoe.  Beyond  here  we  began 
the  final  ascent  to  the  summit  of  the  divide  over  a 
road  that  w^inds  upward  in  long  loops  with  grades 
as  high  as  twenty-five  per  cent.  There  were  many 
fine  vistas  of  hill  and  valley,  rich  in  autumn  color- 
ings that  brightened  the  green  of  the  pines  and 
blended  into  the  pale  lavender  hcize  that  shrouded 
the  distant  hills.  From  the  summit,  at  an  altitude 
of  seventy-four  hundred  feet,  we  had  a  vast  pano- 
rama of  lake,  forest,  and  mountain — but  I  might  be 

accused  of  monotonous  repetition  were  I  to  endeav- 

366 


LAKE  TAHOE 

or  to  describe  even  a  few  of  the  scenes  that  en- 
chanted us.  Every  hilltop,  every  bend  in  the  road, 
and  every  opening  through  the  forests  that  lined 
our  way  presented  views  which,  taken  alone,  might 
well  delight  the  beholder  for  hours — only  their 
frequent  recurrence  tended  to  make  them  almost 
commonplace  to  us. 

For  a  dozen  miles  after  leaving  Myers,  our 
road  ran  alternately  through  forests  and  green 
meadows — the  meadows  about  Tahoe  remain  green 
the  summer  through — finally  coming  to  the  lake 
shore,  which  we  followed  closely  for  the  twenty 
miles  to  Glenbrook.  Most  of  the  way  the  road  runs 
only  a  few  feet  above  the  water  level  and  we  had 
many  glorious  vistas  differing  from  anything  we 
had  yet  seen.  In  the  low  afternoon  sun  the  color 
had  largely  vanished  and  we  saw  only  a  sheet  of 
gleaming  silver  edged  with  clearest  crystal,  which 
made  the  pebbly  bottom  plainly  visible  for  some 
distance  from  the  shore.  Here  an  emerald  meadow 
w^ith  sleek-looking  cattle — there  are  many  cattle  in 
the  Tahoe  region — lay  between  us  and  the  shining 
water;  again  it  gleamed  through  the  trunks  of 
stately  pines.  For  a  little  while  it  was  lost  to  view 
as  we  turned  into  the  forest  which  crowded  closely 
to  the  roadside,  only  to  come  back  in  a  moment 
to  a  new  view — each  one  different  and  seemingly 
more  entrancing  than  the  last,  culminating  in  the 
wonderful  spectacle  from  Cave  Rock.  This  is  a 
bold  promontory,  pierced  beneath  by  the  caves  that 
give  its  name,  rising  perhaps  one  hundred  feet 
above  the  water  and  affording  a  view  of  almost  the 
entire  lake  and  the  encircling  mountains.     On  the 

367 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

western  side  the  mountains  throw  their  serrated 
peaks  against  the  sky,  while  to  the  far  north  they 
showed  dimly  through  a  thin  blue  haze.  The  lake 
seemed  like  a  great  sapphire  shot  with  gold  from 
the  declining  sun — altogether  a  different  aspect  in 
color,  light  and  shadow  from  anything  we  had  wit- 
nessed before.  We  paused  awhile  to  admire  the 
scene  along  with  several  other  w^ayfarers — pedes- 
trians, cyclists,  and  motorists  who  were  alike  at- 
tracted by  the  glorious  spectacle. 

Two  or  three  miles  farther  brought  us  to  Glen- 
brook,  a  quiet  nook  at  the  foot  of  mighty  hills,  pine- 
clad  to  the  very  summits.  The  hotel  is  a  large  but 
unpretentious  structure  directly  by  the  roadside  and 
fronting  on  the  lake.  In  connection  w^ith  the  inn  is 
a  group  of  rustic  cottages,  one  of  w^hich  vv^as  as- 
signed to  us.  It  had  a  new^  bathroom  adjoining  and 
there  was  a  little  sheet-iron  stove  w^ith  fuel  all  laid 
for  a  fire — w^hich  almost  proved  a  "life-saver"  in 
the  sharp,  frosty  air  of  the  following  morning.  The 
cottage  stood  directly  on  the  lake  shore  and  afford- 
ed a  magnificent  view^  of  the  sunset,  w^hich  I  w^ish 
I  were  able  to  adequately  describe.  A  sea  of  fire 
glowed  before  us  as  the  sun  went  down  behind  the 
mountains,  w^hich  w^ere  dimmed  by  the  twilight 
shadows.  Soon  the  shadow^s  gave  place  to  a  thin 
amethyst  haze  w^hich  brought  out  sharply  against 
the  w^estern  sky  the  contour  of  every  peak  and  pin- 
nacle. The  amethyst  deepened  to  purple,  followed 
by  a  crimson  afterglow  v^hich,  w^ith  momentary 
color  variations,  continued  for  nearly  an  hour;  then 

the  light  gradually  faded  from  the  sky  and  the  lake 

368 


LAKE  TAHOE 

took  on  an  almost  ebony  hue — a  dark,  splendid 
mirror  for  the  starlit  heavens. 

The  excellent  dinner  at  the  inn  was  a  surprise ; 
we  hardly  expected  it  in  such  a  remote  place.  They 
told  us  that  the  inn  maintains  its  own  gardens  and 
dairy,  and  the  steamer  brings  supplies  daily.  The 
inn  keeps  open  only  during  the  season,  which  usual- 
ly extends  from  May  to  October,  but  there  is 
some  one  in  charge  the  year  round  and  no  one  who 
comes  seeking  accommodations  is  ever  turned 
away.  Though  the  inn  is  completely  isolated  by 
deep  snows  from  all  land  communication,  the 
steamer  never  fails,  since  the  lake  does  not  freeze, 
even  in  the  periods  of  below-zero  weather.  We 
found  the  big  lounging  room,  with  its  huge  chimney 
and  crackling  log  fire,  a  very  comfortable  and 
cheery  place  to  pass  the  evening  and  could  easily 
see  how  anyone  seeking  rest  and  quiet  might  elect 
to  sojourn  many  days  at  Glenbrook.  But  Glen- 
brook  was  not  always  so  delightfully  quiet  and 
rural!  Years  ago,  back  in  the  early  eighties,  it  was 
a  good-sized  town  with  a  huge  saw  mill  that  con- 
verted much  of  the  forest  about  the  lake  into  lum- 
ber. There  are  still  hundreds  of  old  piles  that  once 
supported  the  wharves,  projecting  out  of  the  water 
of  the  little  bay  in  front  of  the  hotel— detracting 
much  from  the  beauty  of  the  scene. 

We  were  early  astir  in  the  morning,  wonder- 
ing what  the  aspect  of  our  changeful  lake  might  be 
in  the  dawning  light ;  and,  sure  enough,  the  change 
was  there — a  cold,  steel-blue  sheet  of  water, 
rippling  into  silver  in  places.  Near  the  shore  all 
was  quiet,  not  a  wave  lapping  the  beach  as  on  the 

369 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

previous  night.  The  mountains  beyond  the  lake 
were  silhouetted  with  startling  distinctness  against 
a  silvery  sky,  and  on  many  of  the  summits  were 
flecks  of  snow  that  had  outlasted  the  summer. 

We  had  thought  to  go  on  to  Reno  by  the  way 
of  Carson  City,  but  we  could  not  bring  ourselves  to 
leave  the  lake  and  so  we  decided  to  go  by  the  way 
of  Truckee,  even  though  we  had  previously  covered 
much  of  the  road.  It  proved  a  fortunate  decision, 
for  we  saw^  another  shifting  of  the  wonderful  Tahoe 
scenery — the  morning  coloring  was  different  from 
that  of  the  afternoon  and  evening.  We  had  the 
good  fortune  to  pick  up  an  old  inhabitant  of  Tahoe 
City  whose  car  had  broken  down  on  one  of  the 
heavy  grades  and  who  told  us  much  about  the  lake 
and  the  country  around  it.  He  had  lived  near  Tahoe 
for  more  than  thirty-five  years  and  could  remember 
the  days  of  the  prospectors  and  sawmills.  Nearly 
all  the  timber  about  the  lake  is  of  new  growth  since 
the  lumbering  days.  This  accounts  for  the  absence 
of  large  trees  except  in  a  few  spots  which  escaped 
the  lumberman's  ax.  Yellow  pines,  firs,  and  cedars 
prevail,  with  occasional  sugar  pines  and  some 
deciduous  varieties.  It  is,  indeed,  a  pity  that  Tahoe 
and  the  surrounding  hills  were  not  set  aside  as  a 
national  park  before  so  much  of  the  land  passed 
into  private  hands. 

The  day  was  perfect,  crystal  clear  except  for 

a  few  white  clouds  drifting  lazily  across  the  sky  or 

resting  on  the  summits  of  the  mountains  beyond 

the  lake.     For  a  few  miles  out  of  Tallac  we  ran 

through  a  pine  forest,  catching  fugitive  glimpses  of 

the  blue  water  through  the  stately  trunks.     As  we 

370 


LAKE  TAHOE 

ascended  the  ridge  overlooking  Emerald  Bay, 
exclamations  of  delight  were  frequent  and  enthusi- 
astic as  the  magnificent  panorama  unfolded  to  our 
view.  The  climax  was  reached  when  we  paused 
at  the  summit  of  the  ridge,  where  the  whole  of  Ta- 
hoe  spread  out  before  us.  Just  beneath  on  one 
hand  lay  Emerald  Bay;  on  the  other  gleamed 
Cascade  Lake — a  perfect  gem  in  glorious  setting  of 
rock  and  tree.  And  the  glory  of  color  that  greeted 
our  eyes !  Exaggerated  in  description  ?  No  mortal 
language  ever  conveyed  a  tithe  of  its  iridescent 
beauty  and  never  will.  One  of  the  ladies  exclaimed, 
"It  is  like  a  great  black  opal!"  and  knowing  her  pas- 
sion for  that  gem,  w^e  recognized  the  sincerity  of 
her  tribute.  And,  indeed,  the  comparison  was  not 
inapt.  There  were  the  elusive,  changeful  greens 
and  blues,  the  dark  purples,  and  the  strange,  un- 
certain play  of  light  and  color  that  characterizes 
that  mysterious  gem.  Near  the  shore  line  the 
greens  predominated,  reaching  the  deepest  intensity 
in  Emerald  Bay,  just  below.  Passing  through  many 
variations  of  color,  the  greens  merged  into  the  deep 
blues  and  farther  out  in  the  lake  purple  hues  pre- 
vailed. Along  the  opposite  shore  ran  the  rugged 
mountain  range,  the  summits  touched  by  cloud- 
masses  which  held  forth  the  threat  of  a  summer 
shower — and  it  came  just  before  we  reached  the 
tavern.  Overhead  the  sky  was  of  the  deepest  azure 
and  clear  save  for  a  few  tiny  white  clouds  mirrored 
in  the  gloriously  tinted  water.  Altogether,  the 
scene  was  a  combination  of  transcendent  color  with 
a  setting  of  rugged  yet  beautiful  country  that  we 

have  never  seen  equalled  elsewhere  and  which  we 

371 


ON  SUNSET  HIGHWAYS 

have  no  words  to  fittingly  describe.  Even  the  master 
artist  fails  here,  since  he  can  but  express  one  mood 
of  the  lake — while  it  has  a  thousand  every  day.  We 
have  seen  the  Scotch,  Italian  and  English  lakes;  we 
followed  the  shores  of  Constance  and  Geneva;  we 
sailed  the  length  of  George  and  Champlain ;  we  ad- 
mired the  mountain  glories  of  Yellowstone  Lake; 
we  viewed  Klamath  and  Crater  Lakes  from  moun- 
tain heights,  but  none  of  them  matched  the  wonder- 
ful color  variations  of  Tahoe. 

But  we  are  on  our  way  again,  descending  and 
climbing  long  grades  which  pass  through  pine  for- 
ests and  come  out  on  headlands  from  which  w^e  gain 
new^  and  entrancing  view^s  of  lake  and  mountains. 
The  road  was  completed  only  recently,  but  it  is 
good  in  the  main,  though  there  are  steep  pitches 
and  some  rough  and  dusty  stretches.  At  times  it 
takes  us  out  of  sight  of  the  lake,  but  we  are  com- 
pensated by  wild  and  rugged  scenery — tow^ering 
crags  and  massive  walls  of  gray  stone — rising  above 
us  on  every  hand.  The  road  must  have  presented 
considerable  engineering  difficulties;  our  driver 
points  out  a  place  where  a  mighty  rock  of  a  thou- 
sand tons  or  more  was  blasted  to  fragments  to  clear 
the  way.  Far  above  us  on  the  mountain  crests  we 
see  gleaming  patches  of  snow  which  the  late  sum- 
mer sun  has  not  been  able  to  dispel.  We  cross  clear 
mountain  streams  and  wind  through  groves  of  pine 
and  spruce.  Often  as  we  climb  or  descend  the  long 
grades  we  come  upon  new  vistas  of  the  lake  and 
mountains  and  occasionally  we  ask  for  a  moment's 
delay  to  admire  some  especially  beautiful  scene. 
Then  we  descend  almost  to  the  level  of  the  water, 

372 


ON   THE   SHORE   OF   LAKE   TAHOE 
From    Original    Painting    by    H.    H.    Bagg 


LAKE  TAHOE 

which  we  see  flashing  through  stately  trunks  or 
rippHng  upon  clear,  pebbly  beaches.  We  pass  vari- 
ous resorts,  each  surrounded  by  pines  and  com- 
manding a  beautiful  view  of  the  lake.  As  we  ap- 
proach the  Tavern  the  summer  shower  that  has 
been  threatening  begins  and  to  the  color  glories  of 
sky  and  lake  are  added  the  diamond-like  brilliance 
of  the  big  drops,  for  the  sun  is  unobscured  by  the 
clouds.  Beyond  a  stretch  of  smooth  water,  dimmed 
to  dull  silver  by  the  blue-gray  vapor  hanging  over 
it,  a  rainbow  hovers  in  front  of  the  faint  outlines  of 
the  distant  hills.  It  is  a  fitting  climax  to  the  most 
inspiring  drive  in  the  many  thousands  of  miles 
covered  by  our  wanderings. 

A  fairly  good  road  has  been  constructed  for 
nearly  three-quarters  of  the  distance  around  the 
lake  and  a  very  indifferent  wagon  road  from  Tahoe 
City  to  Glenbrook  completes  the  circuit.  The  lat- 
ter we  did  not  cover,  being  assured  that  it  was  very 
difficult  if  not  impassable  for  motors.  Plans  are 
under  way  for  a  new  road  around  the  northern  end 
of  the  lake  which  will  enable  the  motorist  to  en- 
circle this  wonderful  body  of  water — a  trip  of  about 
eighty  miles — and  will  afford  endless  viewpoints 
covering  scenes  of  unparalleled  beauty.  The  whole 
of  the  road  about  the  lake  ought  to  be  improved — 
widened  and  surfaced  and  some  of  the  steeper 
grades  and  more  dangerous  turns  eliminated.  It 
might  then  be  the  "boulevard"  that  one  enthusiastic 
writer  characterizes  it,  even  in  its  present  condition, 
but  in  our  own  humble  opinion  it  has  a  long  way  to 
go  before  it  deserves  such  a  title. 


373 


INDEX 


Alvarado,  Gov.,   232,  257. 

American  River,  366. 

Angel's  Camp,   356,   361. 

Applegate,   360. 

Arlington  Hotel,  186. 

Arrowhead    Mountains,     44, 
87. 

Arroya  Grande,   211. 

Auburn,    359-360. 

Automobile    Club    of   South- 
ern  California,    ^6-11, 
110.    147,    343.    A 

Avalon,   37-42. 

Azusa,   83. 

B 

Bakersfleld,   335,  338,  341. 

Balboa  Beach,  37. 

Bear   Lake,    90. 

Benicia,    293. 

Beverly  Hills,  24. 

Big  Oak   Flat,   344,   351. 

Bodega,   311. 

Bonsai,    104. 

Blottle  Glass  Mountain,  288- 

289. 
Buckler,  Father,  203-207, 

208. 
Burbank,  Luther,    281-282. 
Busch   Gardens,   59. 


Cabrillo,  Juan,  62,  63. 
Calabasas,  53-54,   179. 
Calexico,  141,  142. 
Calistoga,   291. 
Campo,  135. 
Canejo  Pass,  179-180. 
Carmel-by-the-Sea,   237. 
Carmel    Mission,    235,    237- 

241. 
Carnegie  Solar  Observatory, 

47. 
Carpinteria,   184-185. 
Carson,  Kit,  144,  230. 


Casitas   Pass,    183-184,   197. 
Castiac,   Lake,    341. 
Catalina  Island,  37-42. 
Cazadero,   314. 
Chinese    Camp,    344,    355, 

356,   359. 
Claremont,   84. 
Clear  Lake  Valley,  284-286. 
Coalinga,    323-325. 
Coachella,    133. 
Colfax,  358-360. 
Coloma,    365 
Colorado  River,  127-129, 

140. 
Colton   Hall,   232. 
Colton,  Walter,   232-233. 
Corona  Del   Mar,    37. 
Corona  Del  Monte,  246. 
Coronado  Hotel,   114-117, 

121. 
Coyote  Wells,   137-138. 
Crane   Flat,    353. 
Crystal  Lake,    362. 
Cypress    Point,    244-245. 

D 

Dana,    Richard    Henry,    171, 

194,    236-237. 
Del  Mar,   95,  109,  119,  144, 

159-165. 
Del     Monte    Hotel,     1,     95, 

225-228,    246,    317-318. 
Diabolus,   Mount,   295. 
Dixieland,    138. 
Dolores   Mission,   277,    330. 
Donner  Lake,    362. 
Drake,  Sir  Francis,   63. 
Dublin,    306. 
Dutch    Flat,    361. 


El    Cajon    Pass,    90. 

El    Camino    Real,    110,    150, 

157,    158,    171,    174,    199. 

210,    252,    272,    275,    330. 
El   Centre,    129,    133,    140- 

141. 


375 


INDEX 


El  Pizmo,  211. 
Elsinore,    99-102. 
Elsinore  Lake,   101. 
El  Toro,   35,   174. 
Emigrant  Gap,  358,  361. 
Encinitas,    165. 
Escondido,    107-108. 
Estudillo  Mansion,   119-120. 


Folsom,   364. 
Fontana  Orchards,  85. 
Fort  Baker,    317. 
Fort   Barry,    317. 
Fort   McArthur,    28. 
Fort  Rosecrans,    122. 
Fort    Ross,    317. 
"Franciscan       Missions       of 

California,"  189. 
Fremont,  Gen.   John   C,   80, 

118,    170,    246,    257,    259, 

277,   280. 
Fremont    Peak,    246. 
Fresno,    322-323,    341,    344. 


Gaviota  Pass,  198,  200,  202, 

334. 
Geyserville,    281. 
Glenbrook,    367-369,    373. 
Glendale,   48,   56. 
Glen  wood    Mission    Inn,    85, 

91,    92,    94-98. 
Gold  Run,   361. 
Gonzales,   22  3. 
Grant  Hotel,  U.   S.,   110. 
Grant  National  Park,  Gen., 

338,  341. 
Griffith   Park,    56-57. 
Grosmont,    114,    120. 

H 

Half   Moon   Bay,    318-319. 
Hamilton,    Mount,    265-266, 

274. 
Harte,   Bret,   290,    355,    361, 

365. 
Healdsburg,    282. 
Highlands,   99. 
Highland   Springs,    284. 
Hollywood,  24-25,  43. 
Hollywood   Mountain,    57. 

I 

Imperial  Valley,   126-14  3. 


Jackson,   Helen   Hunt,    119, 
181,    238,    240,    333. 

Jacksonville,   355. 

James,  George  Wharton, 
80,    216,    277. 

Jolon,  219,   327. 

K 

King  City,  220,   325-327. 
Kings  River,   324. 


LaCrescenta,    55. 
La  Jolla,   108,   109,   158. 
Lakeport,    284. 
Lankershim,   54,   179. 
LaPurisima   Concepcion 

Mission,     206,     220,     261, 

323,    332. 
Larkin,   Thos.,   231. 
Lasuen,  Father  Francis,   80, 

204,    211,    218,    223,    239, 

256,   261,   270,    333. 
Laurel   Canyon,    43. 
Lebec,    341. 
Lick   Observatory,    264-268, 

274. 
Lobos  Point,  239-240,  247- 

249. 
Loma,    Point,    69,    120-125. 
Lompoc,  220,  332. 
Long  Beach,   25-27,  261. 
Longpre,  Paul  de,  24-25. 
Lookout  Mountain,   43-44. 
Lopez,   Francisco,    80-81. 
Los  Angeles,  1,  2,  11-15,  19, 

82. 
Los  Gatos,  2  63. 
Los  Olivos,  201,  208. 

M 

McGroarty,  John  S.,  67,  162, 

195. 
Madera,   344. 
Malibu   Rancho,    50. 
Mariposa  Grove,   258,   347. 
Matilija  Hot   Springs,    335. 
Mattel's  Tavern,   209-210. 
Merced,  321. 
Mesa  Grande,   146. 
Mexicali,   141. 
Miami  Lodge,    344,    346. 
Miller,  Frank,  67,  97-98, 

217. 


376 


INDEX 


Miller,   Joaquin,   225. 
Miramar,   108. 

Miramar  Hotel  Colony,  19  3. 
Mission  San  Jose,  264,  269- 

270. 
Modesto,  321,  341. 
Moliave  Desert,  89. 
Mokelumne,    356. 
Monrovia,   82,   83. 
Montecito,    196. 
Monterey,   70,   79,   119,  163, 

225-252,    281. 
Monte  Rio,  315. 
Moran,  Thos.,   224. 
Mountain  Spring,   136. 
Muir,  John,  195. 

N 

Napa,  293. 

Napa  Valley,   282,   288. 

Naples,    (Los   Angeles   Co.), 

27. 
Naples  (Santa  Barbara  Co.), 

201. 
National  Soldiers'  Home, 

22-23. 
Native   Sons    of   the   Golden 

West,  220,  230. 
Newport  Beach,   30,   31,   36- 

37. 
New  River,  128,  140. 
Nilands,    142. 
Nordhoff,   335. 


Oakland,    305,    317. 
Ocean   Park,    20-21. 
Oceanside,   165,   170. 
O'Keefe,  Father,  168-169, 

191. 
"Old    Baldy,"    82-83. 
"Old  Missions  of  California, 

The,"    80-81. 
Olema,   316. 
Orange.  34. 
O'Sullivan,  Father  St.  John, 

172-173.   176-177. 
"Our  Lady  of  the  Solitude" 

Mission,  220-223,  261. 
Owens   River   Aqueduct,   54, 

79,    340. 
Oxnard,  180, 


Pala,   104-105,   148. 
Pacific   Grove,   243,   245. 


Pala   Mission,    105-107. 
Palatingwa  Indians,  107. 
Palm    Springs,    132-133. 
Palo  Alto,    27  3-275. 
Palomar,  Mount,  149,  162. 
Pasadena,   59,   60. 
Paso    Robles,    214-215,    323, 

331. 
Pebble  Beach,  245. 
Petaluma,  278. 
Pieta  Station,  283. 
Placerville,   358,    364-366. 
Port    Costa,    2  9  3. 
Portola,  6  9. 
Priest's,    355. 

Q 

"Quo  Vadis,"   35. 

R 

Ramona,    144-145. 
"Ramona,"   102,    119,    156, 

181. 
Rancho  La  Brae,   59. 
Raymond,  344. 
Redlands,   86,   91,   93,   99. 
Red    Mountain,    103. 
Redondo,   30. 
Riverside,   85,  91-98,  100, 

146. 
Roosevelt,  Theodore,  129. 
Rubidoux    Mountain,    92-94. 
Russian  River,  282,  313. 

315. 


Sacramento,    126,    280,    308, 

308,    358. 
Saint  Helena,  Mt.,   44,   290- 

293,  311. 
Salinas,   224,  252. 
Salinas  River,   215,   218, 

223 
Salton"  Sea,   128,   133,   140. 
San  Andreas,  356. 
San  Antonio  Mission,  6  3,  97, 

219-220,    257,    323,    329- 

331. 
San  Antonio,  Mt.,  82. 
San  Bernardino,  85,   86,  93, 

132. 
San  Bernardino  Mtns.,  125, 

162. 


377 


INDEX 


San  Buenaventura  Mission, 

178,   180,  182. 
San    Carlos    Borromeo,     68, 

229. 
San  Carlos  Church,  2  35-2  36, 

242. 
San   Clements,   162. 
San   Diego,   110-125,   150. 
San  Diego  Back  Country, 

134,  142-149. 
San  Diego  Mission,  110-113. 
San    Fernando,    64,    79-81, 

180,335. 
San   Fernando   Mission,    74- 

80,   140,   178. 
San  Fernando  Valley,  54-55, 

178. 
San  Francisco,  1,  7,  62,  275- 

277,    293,    317. 
San   Francisco   de  Asis  Mis- 
sion, 178. 
San  Gabriel   Archangel  Mis- 
sion,   64-74,    79,    86,    111, 

330. 
San   Gabriel   Mountains,    52. 
San   Gorgonio,    Mt.,    100. 
San   Jacinto,    Mt.,    100,    162. 
San  Joaquin  Delta,   294, 

297-305. 
San   Juan   Bautista   Mission, 

97,  252-257. 
San     Juan     Capistrano    Mis- 
sion,    73,     171-177,     222, 

253-254. 
San   Jose,    260,    263-264. 
San  Jose,  Mission.  2  64,  2  6  9- 

270. 
San     Luis     Obispo     Mission, 

70,   211-214,   261. 
San  Luis  Rey  Mission,   105, 

166-170,    190. 
San    Luis    Rey    River,    104, 

148. 
San   Marcos  Pass.   194.   199. 
San  Miguel   Mission,   215- 

218,  255. 
San  Pasqual  River,   144. 
San    Pedro,    27-28,    38,    62. 
San     Rafael     Mission,     22  3, 

261,    277-278. 
Santa  Ana,   33,  177. 
Santa  Ana  River,  93. 
Santa  Barbara,  74,  178-198. 
Santa  Barbara  Mission,  178- 

198,   261. 
Santa    Catalina    Island,    27, 

36,    37,    162. 


Santa  Clara,   271-273. 
Santa  Clara  College,  271- 

272. 
Santa    Clara   Mission,    271- 

272. 
Santa     Clara     Valley,     17  9, 

265. 
Santa  Cruz,  254,  257-258. 

320. 
Santa   Cruz    (Island),    195, 
Santa   Cruz   Mission,   22  3, 

260-261. 
Santa  Cruz  Mountains,  262, 

270. 
Santa  Lucias  Mountains, 

328. 
Santa  Maria,  210. 
Santa  Monica,   20-21. 
Santa   Monica   Mountains, 
21,   43,   51-52. 
Santa  Paula,   335. 
Santa  Rosa,   281-282. 
Santa  Rosa   (Island)    195. 
Santa  Ynez,    200. 
Santa  Ynez  Mission,   199, 

202-208. 
Santa  Ynez  Mountains,  196, 

201. 
Santa  Ysabel,   145,   148. 
Saugus,  181.   335,   339,  342. 
Sausalito,     282,     286,     277, 

312,  316. 
Sebastopol,  311. 
Sequoia  Nat.  Park,  338. 
Serra,   Father  Junipero,    63, 

70-74,   93,   111,   118,   119, 

151,    176,    182,    190,    211, 

229,     230,     236,    238-240, 

256,    330. 
Sevastopol,    281. 
Shasta,    Mt.,    360. 
Sherman,  Gen.,   231-232. 
Sherman    Institute,    91. 
Ship   Island,   39. 
Sierra  Madre,   61. 
Silverado   Canyon,   34. 
Simonneau,   Jules,   2  33. 
Sloat,  Commodore,  229,  242. 
Smiley  Heights,   98,  99. 
Soledad,  220-223,  261. 
Sonoma,  151,  178,  278-281. 
Sonora,    356. 
Southern  Pacific  R.  R.,  129, 

131,    285. 
Squirrel  Inn,  88. 
Stanford  Jr.  University,  Le- 

land,    273-274. 


378 


INDEX 


Stevenson,      Robert     Louis, 

233-234,  244,  289,  290. 
Stockton,    296-307,    341, 

344,   357. 
Stockton,   Frank,   88. 
Stratford   Inn,    159. 
Summerland,  185. 
Superstition  Mountains, 

139. 
Sutter,   Gen.    John   H.,    309, 

312. 
Sycamore  Canyon,  196. 


Tahoe  City,  373. 

Tahoe,  Lake,    196,  343,  358- 

373. 
Tejon  Pass,   335,   338. 
Temecula,  102,  103,  148. 
Theosophical  Institute,   121- 

125. 
Tia  Juana,   18,   117-118. 
Tingley,   Kattierine,   124, 

186. 
Topango  Canyon,   49. 
Torrey,  John,  158. 
Torrey   Pines,    158,    163. 
Truckee,  362,  370. 
Tujunga  River,  56. 
Tulare  Lake,   336-337. 
Tuolumne  Grove,   353. 
Tuttletown,    356. 


u 


Upland,   84. 


V 

Vallejo,  Gen.,  278-279,  280. 
Vancouver,   George,   241. 
Van  Nuys,  54,  179. 
Van   Orten,   Lake,    362. 
Venice,   19-20,   30,   31. 
Ventura,   51,   178,  180,  181, 

334. 
Verdugo  Mountains,   55,   56. 
Viscaino,  63,  228,  230,  236. 

w 

Warner's   Hot  Springs,   145, 

148. 
Warren's  Ranch,  135. 
Watsonville,   257. 
Wawona,  346-347. 
White,   Stewart  Edward, 

194. 
Whitney,  Mount,  337. 
Whittier,    32. 
Wilson,    Mount,    44-48,    61, 

82,   266. 
Wright,    Harold   Bell,    130. 


Yosemite    Valley,    343-352. 
Yuba  River,   361. 


Zalvidea,  Fray  Jose,   174- 
175. 


379 


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